


the warmth of your doorways

by asael, unraelated



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azure Moon route spoilers, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Imprisonment, M/M, Slow Burn, Verdant Wind route spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 181,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unraelated/pseuds/unraelated
Summary: After the battle of Gronder Field, Claude captures the feral King of Faerghus, unknowingly saving his life. Dimitri is not particularly grateful. Claude has his own ideas about what to do with Dimitri - but if he wants to succeed at anything, even keeping Dimitri alive, he'll need to get through to him first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably important to know that there is no Byleth in this fic, or in fact in this fic's universe. Sorry, Teach.
> 
> There'll be explicit content in later parts, and when that is posted, we'll update the fic rating. Just be aware that it's coming, in case that's not your thing!
> 
> The fic title is a lyric from Hozier's 'It Will Come Back', and if you don't want to read this fic, you can just listen to the song because that's basically the whole plot, sorry not sorry. We hope you enjoy!!

Gronder Field was a nightmare.

This is a war. Claude knows that it means facing friends, fighting them, killing them. But knowing and doing are two separate things, and though it must be done, he doesn’t think there’s any way to make it easy.

Needless to say, Dimitri’s appearance, after all the reports of a death, was a surprise. He didn’t particularly care that Claude was there, wanting only to face Edelgard, but Claude faced him and won - not an especially incredible thing, considering the state Dimitri was in at that point.

And then?

And then Claude captured him, the decision of a moment that he now must reckon with.

It's been a few days since the battle. Just a few, enough time for everyone to rest and heal - enough time for Claude to decide what to do about Dimitri, except he really hasn't.

It feels wrong to keep him captive. He is a person, and a person that Claude once knew, though now he might not anymore. Claude isn't particularly inclined to be anyone's jailer, but if he lets Dimitri go, he has very little doubt that the man will get himself killed. He seems singlemindedly focused on his revenge, enough so that he was willing to go through Claude to get it. It wasn't luck that gave Claude the upper hand, and it wasn't strength - it was strategy, cutting off Dimitri's forces and using the chaos of war and the distraction of Edelgard to take him down.

If Dimitri had been focused on him, Claude's plans would not have worked. But he had tunnel vision, all his anger focused on Edelgard, Claude only getting in the way. And if Claude lets him go now, he will continue on that path, and he will die, just like he would have died if Claude hadn't captured him while he was weakened by his injuries.

Maybe he wants to die. Maybe he doesn't care. But Claude can't see how Dimitri's death will do anyone any good. So let him go because he is an adult capable of making his own choices, or keep him captive because his choices are clearly terrible and self-destructive?

When things have calmed down, as much as things ever do, Claude makes his way to Dimitri's cell. It’s below the monastery, past locked doors, down steep flights of steps. Claude didn’t know these cells were here the first time, when they were together at school. Now he finds himself glad of them, glad that there was some alternative besides killing Dimitri or letting him continue on his path.

He doesn't know what he can accomplish here, but he knows Dimitri has allowed no one to see to his wounds, that he refuses to be at all cooperative. Maybe seeing him will help Claude decide. Or maybe he just wants to see Dimitri, to try to understand what has happened.

He gestures the guards away, waits for them to leave, and approaches the bars. He tried to be sure Dimitri would be comfortable, with a real bed (albeit small) and good food and other comforts, but it is still a cell.

“Dimitri?” He keeps his voice level. Not quiet, not a shout. He does not yet know the best way to act around his old - friend? Were they that?

Well, they were not enemies back then, at least.

His eyes fall on the shape in the cell, and he wonders if what he has in there is a person anymore, really. A feral animal might be more accurate, based on what Claude has seen. The likening to a beast is only made easier due to the heavy fur mantle around Dimitri’s hunched shoulders, obscuring most of his body from view as he sits motionless on the floor of his cell.

They haven't stripped him of his armor, in an attempt not to be too invasive, but his weapons are gone- the dagger in his boot, the other one at his belt, the sword he carried, and the Areadbhar. He is dangerous even without weapons.

Claude has heard from the healers and from the guards. At first they'd tried to see to Dimitri’s injuries, be hospitable, but he'd snarled and snapped at them in a fit of rage, seemingly simply for the audacity of coming closer to him - and, so, not wanting to be murdered in cold blood, the healers had decided not to try anymore. They'd left warm towels and bandages instead, and a small basin of water, which he'd overturned. He threw the second one as well. The third - well, that one he'd used, it seems. Some of his armor has been removed.

There is a bandaged gash at his hip that required the removal of the plating along his thigh, another cut at his bicep, which necessitated that the spaulder went, and then, the worst of it, an arrow that had pierced through the joint of his breastplate and embedded itself in his shoulder. According to reports, he'd torn it out on the battlefield, uncaring, which likely had only caused more damage.

Nevertheless, Dimitri isn't going to die. He's almost certainly suffered worse before, although his self-tending and tendency to throw water basins have certainly made his room a bit less hospitable than Claude intended it to be.

Around Dimitri on the stone floor are irreverently-torn scraps of fabric, dried spatters of blood, and various pieces of armor. He's put the padded undershirt back on, but without the imposing black plating he seems a bit smaller than he had on the battlefield.

Dimitri doesn't look up, nor does he acknowledge that he's heard Claude speak. There's a plate of food untouched by his cell door and more plates of spoiled food piled up in the garbage near where they'd been keeping him.

Claude waits in silence, watching, and finally Dimitri exhales, still staring at the ground in front of him. His voice is hoarse, likely unused to being used after so long in solitude.

“...you're here to take me back to Fhirdiad,” he says, low and resigned. The first words he's spoken since being taken into this jail cell. “You might as well just kill me here.”

It is difficult to see Dimitri like this. On the battlefield it was different - Dimitri was clearly not the boy he had once been, but he was strong, wild, fierce. Disturbingly so, yes, but more alive than he looks now. 

That's not all, of course. His voice. His eyepatch. Something as simple as the way he holds himself. 

Claude doesn't know everything that's happened. Really, he doesn't know anything that's happened - the last he heard, Dimitri was dead. 

Well, perhaps this is a ghost. A revenant. That would explain a lot. Too bad Claude doesn't really believe in that sort of thing.

“You're wrong about that.”

He keeps his tone casual. Not irreverent, because Dimitri deserves more than that, but casual. As if he's speaking to a friend. As if they were back in school, and he was approaching Dimitri about a difficult assignment or a political development that he wanted to discuss.

As if the world hadn't changed around them, and changed them with it.

“Not that they'd even let us close. The Kingdom's loyal to Edelgard, and we're not her favorite people right now.”

An understatement, considering the Alliance has declared all-out war. And there’s a reaction, then. The moment Claude says Edelgard’s name, Dimitri's head jerks up, his eye narrowing at Claude from underneath his unkempt hair.

“I'm not giving you to her. I'm not going to kill you, either. Frankly,” Claude says, and at this he smiles, more than a twist of the lips though a little rueful, “I don't know what to do with you.”

The tension in the room is an entirely different sort now, filled with nothing short of a murderous rage, Dimitri’s gaze intent and burning.

“Then get out of my way,” Dimitri says, lowly through gritted teeth. He moves his legs beneath him as if to stand - but he needs to grab hold of the bed behind him to do it fully. The act pulls at his injured shoulder and he lets out a sharp exhale, but forces his way up regardless - clearly not caring about causing himself further injury. “If you stand between me and her, I will strike you down.”

Claude can see that he's a bit unsteady on his feet. The natural result of nights of little sleep, the refusal of food, the general blood loss. Dimitri breathes short breaths through his mouth, forcing stillness, and Claude watches him.

Claude knows that though the threat seems empty, with these bars between them, Dimitri means it. Claude has seen him now on the battlefield, he knows that Dimitri is dangerous even when unarmed. He knows that Dimitri somehow escaped imprisonment before. 

Since the capture, Claude has found reports of entire squads of Imperial troops disappearing while trekking through the mountains. There are other creatures that could have caused such damage, but something in Claude’s intuition tells him that’s not the case.

True, Dimitri is not at his best right now, but there's still a focus to him, a fire that won't ever burn out. A wounded animal is more dangerous than any sort of beast, and Claude knows that Dimitri intends to make good on his promise if given half the chance.

He knew, of course, that mentioning Edelgard would provoke some reaction. It could do nothing less. And of course he already knew that Dimitri would go through him to get to Edelgard, regardless of anything else. This is confirmation of everything he already knew, and so he weathers the tension, letting his smile fall away, letting his voice steady into something more serious.

He approaches the bars of the cell, not because he doesn't think Dimitri is dangerous but because he wants to show that the clear danger will not frighten him away. But that approach gives him a better view of Dimitri, the light from the tiny window near the top of the wall illuminating him.

He looks terrible, and so Claude states the obvious.

“If you tried to go after her right now, she'd strike you down.”

His voice is flat, unsentimental. Dimitri is a warrior, he must know this. Claude would not send a fighter in Dimitri's state out on the field, would not even consider it. He's strong, he's still a danger, he's fueled by something that won't let him fall - but against an opponent in good health, especially one as strong as Edelgard, he would stand no chance.

“Do you really want me to let you go, just so you can kill yourself on her sword?” Claude tilts his head, just a little, evaluating Dimitri. “That wouldn't be of any use to anybody.”

He doesn't expect Dimitri to agree with that assessment. He's too focused, too - obsessed, really. There's no way a few words from Claude will change his mind. But Claude has been able to change many people's minds in the past, so he doesn't intend to give up, either.

“At least have something to eat,” he says, conjuring his usual smile again. “I promise it's not poisoned.”

There’s a long moment of silence, Dimitri’s gaze tracking Claude.

“And what... use am I to you?” Dimitri asks. He takes a small step closer to the bars, perhaps to entertain some form of Claude's discussion. “You're keeping me alive. You have a reason.”

“I have a lot of reasons,” Claude says, and it's the simple truth. Claude learned long ago that there's no point in lying when the truth will do just as well. It's a point of practicality, really - tell the truth whenever you can, because then you don't have to keep track of any lies.

There's no point in lying to Dimitri. Not when Claude would prefer to find a way to convince the man to trust him, at least enough to get those wounds looked at.

“The world thinks you're dead. You here, alive - that's something to work with, for both of us. I'm fighting a war, Dimitri, and my opponent has more resources and more power than I do. I need everything I can get.”

He's won battles, so far, but that doesn't mean they're winning. It doesn't mean things couldn't turn in an instant if he makes the wrong decision, if one of his plans falls apart. He doesn't yet know what use Dimitri could be, especially not if he never wants to cooperate, but if he does -

“If you joined me, if we worked together - well, I guess that's getting ahead of myself, since you haven't even looked me in the eye yet.” He smiles, another rueful little thing. “I thought we got along all right, back at school. I didn't want to see you bleed out on the ground. I didn't want you to end that way.” And that, too, is nothing but the truth. “You deserve better than that.”

Something in Dimitri snaps abruptly and he lunges forward from utter stillness with a speed that he frankly shouldn't be capable of. He gets his fingers on the front of Claude's shirt, the rush of action through with in the blink of an eye.

Dimitri is... unnaturally strong, he always has been. Even back at school, the teachers would sigh and poke fun at him for breaking more weapons than the rest of the schoolyard put together. He'd lose focus and dent a mug in his hand, snap the buckles on his uniform. 

It would be nothing, Claude thinks, for him crush a windpipe. To snap a spine. 

Claude dismissed the guards. Claude walked closer. Claude was warned.

“I don't.” Dimitri finally breathes, though he still won't look at him, even with Claude in his grip. This is the part where Dimitri kills him - where it all ends.

But Dimitri hesitates, wavering at the last possible moment.

Claude doesn't have a weapon on him. He'd done the math before coming in here and decided it didn't make sense. He'd already planned to dismiss the guards, he'd already planned to talk to Dimitri alone. Dimitri is stronger than him and Claude knew that if it came to a physical confrontation, one dagger would make little difference and could easily be used against him. Or worse, the guards.

So it came down to two choices: come fully armed and keep his distance - Claude's speed and accuracy would win over Dimitri's strength at a distance, especially in this condition - or come without a weapon at all.

It was a gamble, especially considering Dimitri has already shown himself willing to kill Claude. But Claude wants Dimitri's trust, Claude wants to believe that an alliance might someday be possible, and that means making himself vulnerable. It was a gamble, and when Dimitri's hand closes on his collar, Claude thinks that it is a gamble he has lost.

But Dimitri hesitates, and Claude evaluates.

Call for the guard, but he'll probably be dead before they get here. It's hard to see in the darkness, but he thinks some of Dimitri's wounds may have opened with that swift movement - so, strike out at a weak point and hope the pain releases Dimitri's grip. Not a sound strategy either, considering Dimitri's singlemindedness.

If Claude dies, Dimitri has no future either, and Edelgard will have only victory. But that's a kind of logic that he doesn't think Dimitri is willing to entertain right now, not with fury and obsession filling his veins. So talking his way out of this with logic isn't a winning strategy, either.

He doesn't move. He doesn't struggle. He looks at Dimitri, who still can't meet his eyes, and feels like he's baring his throat to a wolf. His only hope is that this wolf isn't entirely rabid yet.

He speaks as though Dimitri isn't about to kill him, steady and quiet and honest.

“I've lost enough friends already. I deserve better than to see you that way.”

Claude does not know the thoughts that might run through Dimitri’s mind in that moment. The emotions in his heart. The regret, perhaps, the sort of regret that Claude often feels when facing a former friend. He doesn’t know what drives Dimitri, what changes his mind.

But something does.

Dimitri's shoulders tremble under the fur of his cloak, his head ducked down. His grip weakens, and he lets go of Claude, pulling his hand back to curl his fingers around the bars that separate them instead. Either his legs are weak or he simply does not wish to stand anymore - Dimitri slides back down to the ground at Claude's feet, a miserable, broken thing.

“Get out,” he finally says, and Claude can hear the effort it takes to force his voice even. 

He didn't sigh in relief when Dimitri lets him go, but now he feels his heartbeat slowing. He had no certainty that moment wouldn't be his last, but it wasn't, and that means - something. Even Claude isn't entirely sure what, not yet, but he feels a spark of hope. Maybe it's foolish to feel that way, when all Dimitri has done is choose not to kill him, but here he is alive.

It means something.

He takes one prudent step back, because he's not stupid enough to not learn from his mistakes, and then he kneels down so that they're on the same level. He looks at Dimitri for a long moment. His wounds, his makeshift bandages. He needs a good bath, a good meal, a good night's sleep. Claude wonders how long it's been since he's had any of those things.

There's no use forcing anything. They can't even have a real conversation, not yet.

But they can get there, maybe, if Claude is willing to be patient.

“Eat something.” His voice is quiet, gentle. “I'll be back tomorrow.”

And then he stands and leaves. Dimitri deserves to have something, some kind of control, and if all that amounts to right now is dictating when their conversations end, Claude will give it to him. After all, Dimitri isn't going anywhere.

On his way out, he smiles at the guards, gestures them back in, and neglects to tell them that Dimitri nearly murdered him. 

Coming out of the stairway into the sunlight, Claude breathes fresh air and thinks - that could have gone much worse. He could be dead now, or Dimitri could have refused to speak to him at all. It’s the foundation for something, maybe, and Claude has always been patient when it comes to these things.

He’s only taken a few steps before he’s intercepted. Lorenz, with a pinched look of disapproval on his face that Claude is awfully familiar with.

“What are you doing?” Lorenz’s voice is low, the question almost hissed, as if someone might be listening. “What were you thinking?”

“About what?” Claude says, smiling, the picture of innocence. Of course he knows why Lorenz is upset, but it’s much more satisfying to make him say it out loud. He likes Lorenz, but he really can’t resist winding him up sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

“About _Dimitri_,” Lorenz says, the corners of his lips curling down into a firm frown. “If the Kingdom’s generals find out he’s here - he’s been sentenced, Claude. He’s meant to have been executed. You’re harboring a murderer.”

“This is war,” Claude says, and he doesn’t say the rest. _We’re all murderers._ “I’m keeping it quiet. Word won’t have gotten out yet. If he’s on our side, having him here will end up working in our favor.”

“_If._” Lorenz’s displeasure is as clear as ever. “And if he’s not, it’s just as likely that he’ll break out and end up murdering us all in our beds. He’s not well, Claude. Anyone can see that.”

Anyone can. Claude can. But why should that mean they ought to give up on him? He’s an old friend, a classmate, a _person_, and - just think of how useful he could be. How much he could help their cause.

Claude doesn’t say any of that aloud. He’s not ready to voice any of the plans simmering in the back of his mind, not until he knows whether they’re even possible. He smiles instead, and winks at Lorenz, and says, “I’m working on it.”

This Lorenz expression is just as familiar as the first: frustration, irritation, anger, all shading into the incredibly reluctant trust that Claude has fought so hard to earn. He sniffs and crosses his arms. “I’m telling them to write ‘This was Claude’s stupid idea’ on my gravestone.”

The grin that tugs at the edges of Claude’s lips is genuine. “I’m honored.”

“Come on,” Lorenz says. “We’re meeting in the council room shortly.” He casts one last glance at the shadowed doorway down to Dimitri’s cell, trepidation and uncertainty and, perhaps, a tinge of fear.

Claude pretends he didn’t see it. Lorenz may be right to fear. Claude remembers vividly the speed Dimitri moved with, the strength of his grip, the piercing rage within him. Claude is gambling that this will not go bad, that his plans won’t turn sour on him. He’s gambling that, eventually, Dimitri will listen to reason. 

He isn’t afraid. He’s done stupider things in the past, and the important thing is, Dimitri _didn’t_ kill him when he could have.

There’s a chance this will all work out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has spent over a week in Claude's prison cell. He still doesn't know what to make of the situation - but the longer he's here, the more he's learning about Claude himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Antiquecipher](https://twitter.com/antiquecipher) made an absolutely [stunning comic/fanart](https://twitter.com/antiquecipher/status/1170845265034498048) of a pivotal moment from Chapter 1! Thank you SO much!

It's been a week and a half.

Claude came back the next day and Dimitri wouldn't speak to him. And then he came back the day after that - and the day after that. And again. And soon, Dimitri realizes that Claude has visited him every day since he'd almost killed him, even if what ensues isn't exactly a riveting conversation. He can't figure out the _why_ of it, and nothing that he's been able to get out of him gives him much of a reason, not since Claude offhandedly mentioned _joining forces_ on the first day.

He does eat, finally, after the second visit. It's been so long and he's starved himself so much that after the first bite, he finds that he's _ravenous_ and consumes the rest of the food on the tray in minutes. His body is unfortunately accustomed to this (quite literal) feast or famine, but he eats again the next day, and the next. Claude is keeping him alive, actively investing resources into making him healthy, and Dimitri doesn't know what to think of it.

And they- well, it wouldn't be accurate to say that they _talk_, but Claude talks and Dimitri sometimes responds with a word or two. If he's in a bad mood, he'll snarl. If he's in a particularly bad mood, which has only happened once, he'll throw something at the bars.

He still sleeps on the floor, rather than the bed. After a few days, he's pulled the bedding from it to make some sort of nest in the far back of the cell, pitched into shadow by the light that comes through the window.

He's sleeping now, when Claude comes in - just a light doze, nothing more, and the sounds of his footsteps make Dimitri jerk upright, his gaze cold as he watches Claude approach. For the first time, he's wearing the fresher clothes that had been brought to him, with the sticky bloodied garments that he'd worn under his armor balled up in the corner, as if he's an animal trying to hide his weakness.

This time, he speaks first.

“It's you.”

Just 'you', not his name, not yet - and it almost seems like he's saying that to reassure himself. Claude _did_ just wake him up, after all.

“It's me.” Claude smiles, and Dimitri recognizes it for one of his old smiles, the kind that were never exactly real. “I brought these for you.”

In his hands are a roll of fresh bandages, some healing salve, and a book - a travelogue, someone's tales of their journey through Dagda. He doesn't set them down yet, just showing them to Dimitri. Claude doesn't usually bring things when he visits, and Dimitri is appreciative of that fact - it’s likely that he’d refuse them anyway, but today seems different somehow.

‘Since you won't let anyone look at those wounds - well, you can at least change the bandages. Also, I figured you might be getting bored.”

Dimitri doesn't really know what to do with any of that - but he hadn't known what to do in most of this last week and a half, either. Claude has been nothing short of generous and kind, far too kind for someone who Dimitri had almost killed on the first day of this... whatever this was.

Dimitri has decided at some point in the last week that he doesn't care what Claude wants from him. If he's after information, he can have it. Status, some sick way to gloat - he doesn't care. If the other shoe drops and Dimitri _does_ wind up traded to the empire for political gain, then he'll be dead anyway. Released, and he'll keep trying to reach Enbarr. It's out of his control and he has no loyalty to anything anymore, nothing that he wants to protect.

But Claude doesn't ask him anything. Claude doesn't gloat or trade him, or release him - he just talks, and idles away the time, and now he's bringing things for him. When he's feeling particularly sane, Dimitri wonders if Claude is lonely, to try and befriend a beast like him the way he does.

He doesn't feel that way often.

“...hm.”

His fits of rage have prevented some of the healing, as he keeps reopening the wounds, though it would definitely be far worse had he still been on his own. The new equipment is... well, necessary, and a very small part of him is thankful for it.

His armor is now entirely off and has been for a couple of days. Eventually, Dimitri had set it all on the bed, but he keeps the furs around him at all times, as if trying to encourage the likeness to some kind of animal. Either that, or he just misses the cold of his homeland.

Regardless, this is likely the best that Claude has seen him yet - aware, able to process this new information with curiosity rather than hatred and threats, and somewhat calm. Which is maybe why, when he opens his mouth, he says something ridiculous:

“...you can look at them.”

It's an admission, but his voice is still grizzled, anything but weak. Dimitri still doesn't look at Claude's face, and of course Claude would be absolutely insane to trust him enough to do anything of the sort, but Claude was also insane enough to dismiss his guards, stand close to the bars, and not tell anyone after Dimitri almost killed him. If he's feeling up for risking his life in exchange for another small kernel of Dimitri's trust, he's welcome to step inside the cell.

“Just you. No healers.”

Claude seems to watch him for a long time, and Dimitri can practically see the wheels in his mind turning. He wouldn’t trust himself if he were Claude, not when he’s shown that he can turn violent easily, when he’s almost killed Claude in the past. It’s clearly a major risk.

But for some reason, Claude continues to think it over, watching Dimitri as if assessing his current levels of sanity. Dimitri doesn’t blame him: if Claude _is_ being genuine in an attempt to care for him, then it’s a decent opening. Dimitri has never made an offer like this before and it’s the closest thing to trust that he’s shown him.

“All right.”

Claude says it easily, like he hadn’t just hesitated for as long as he did, like he isn’t taking the largest risk of his life.

He waves the guard in, who opens the cell door so Claude can enter. Claude doesn't carry a key - there's no lock on the inside anyway. When the door shuts, he's locked in there with Dimitri, and to compound this possible error in judgement, he sends the guard away with the simple instruction 'come back when I call for you'. The guard doesn't question him. Either he believes in Claude or he thinks it's all beyond his pay grade, because he leaves without a protest.

And then Claude's in the cell with Dimitri, with no easy way out.

“I know some battlefield medicine, but I'm no healer. Can you show me the worst of it? I'll do what I can.”

If Dimitri is surprised that Claude agrees, he doesn't show it. He just keeps his gaze on the ground, the same spot he's been staring at most of the times that Claude comes to visit. He doesn't know why he's offered, really - he doesn't intend for it to be a trap, nor does he particularly see it as any sort of olive branch. Mostly, it's just that Claude has commented on his injuries a few times and it's admittedly difficult to tie an effective bandage with his non-dominant hand without also aggravating the wound on that arm.

But he doesn't want his captor's concern or his pity, and he's dealt with worse injuries on his own, so... in the end, maybe it is somehow subconsciously, about trust. About pushing his boundaries, seeing how far Claude might let him take this.

Which is, apparently, pretty far.

If Dimitri wants to bolt, he has the perfect opportunity right now, with the guard at the door. Claude doesn't carry weapons, he's observed, and he's confident enough that he'd be able to kill the both of them despite the guard's sword and his rigid posture. He could move then, barrel through Claude and make a desperate grab for the soldier there, break whatever bone he could get his hands on, and drag him closer, back toward the bars to snap his neck and steal his key. He could unlock the door, take the sword, and kill as many people as it took until he could steal a horse and... and ride South, probably.

But he does nothing and the moment has passed. Dimitri watches the guard go balefully, before the memory of Claude's words snap him out of his reverie and he remembers that now they're both in here together.

Dimitri grunts and flexes his shoulders back, letting his cloak fall to the floor. Without it, and without the customary black steel of his armor or even the dark bulk of his padded garments, he seems... closer to human than he has yet. His shoulders, while still broad and powerful, are dwarfed by the cloak he always keeps around him and he doesn't look half as imposing without it.

He still doesn't move from the spot where he's been sleeping. If Claude wants to be shown, he'll have to get on the floor with him, near the disorganized swathe of sheets and bedding that he'd pulled off the bed earlier.

"Save your concern," Dimitri mutters, acidic as usual, but he reaches his arms behind his head to grab onto the collar of his borrowed tunic and pull it off in a smooth motion. It sticks on his chest and arm, from where he'd bled through and stained the fabric already, but otherwise comes off easy enough. 

From there, he goes still with the garment still on his arms, resting in his lap now that his torso has been exposed.

Of course he has scars. That's to be expected, after five years of fighting tooth and nail and countless deaths around him. Most of his injuries had been self tended, like the ones he's currently suffering from, and while some have healed properly, some haven't and they leave ugly, red intents in his skin. There's... a lot of them, but beneath them is a frame that is undeniably still powerful despite his many injuries, his lack of a proper sleep schedule, his intermittent meals. He's somehow still strong and well-defined, having grown from his somewhat gangly school self into a creature that only survives because of its physical superiority to the men and women it fights.

After a few moments like that, he straightens just a little, tipping his head away from his injured shoulder while bringing his other hand up to clench his fingers around the bandage and rip it away, bringing some of the scabbing with it and causing it to ooze blood yet again.

In the almost-two weeks that he's been here, most of the minor things - the cuts, the scrapes, the bruises - had healed, but there's still a few that stubbornly refuse to close: this one, the gash on his bicep where he'd been cleanly sliced at with a thin blade, and the one at his hip. But Claude had told him to show the worst of it and he does so, looking away and reaching up belatedly to tug his hair aside so it doesn't obscure the view.

This is the deepest, pierced by a serrated arrowhead which had embedded itself under his skin, stopped from impaling him entirely only by the angle that it had hit his armor. Dimitri had ripped it out within moments, but in his carelessness he had _twisted_ it, causing vastly more damage. It's trying to heal even so, but it's deep, and Dimitri hasn't exactly been taking proper care of it.

"Your man," he finally murmurs in an explanation, but there's no blame in his voice - everything was an enemy on a battlefield as chaotic as that one, and it was likely an act of self defense as Dimitri would have killed the man wearing yellows and golds anyway.

He did kill him, he remembers suddenly. The memory brings a sick sense of satisfaction, pooling in his stomach.

"I killed him."

Claude doesn't react at first, but eventually nods, his voice quiet when he responds:

"That's war."

There is a twinge of sadness there, of regret - it is war, and lives must be lost, but they are still his men and Dimitri supposes that Claude cares for them. Still, the choices they made were their own. Dimitri, who has experience with people dying before him, doesn't extend sympathy in the way that he used to.

For what it's worth, Claude doesn't seem to blame Dimitri for it - and how could he? He's killed his own fair share of enemy soldiers personally, and as the leader of the Alliance armies all deaths may as well lay at his feet.

This is what war is, after all.

Claude approaches him and he doesn't bother trying to pretend he's averting his eyes. Dimitri knows that it isn't pretty, but Claude doesn't look away, something that earns a small tidbit of Dimitri's respect.

Dimitri has been through a lot, though it’s partially his own fault, he has no false notions about that. But that’s war, that’s life, that’s what being the sentenced crown prince of Faerghus is.

Claude retrieves a basin of water and a clean towel and sits on the floor next to Dimitri. The man on the floor remains still as Claude draws closer, clearly not in the mood for violent displays like he was the first time that Claude came to visit him. All he does in response to Claude's proximity is turn his head slightly, his good eye tracking the other man's boots as they step carefully around him. The injury is on his blind side, and he has no use for subtlety as he tries to ensure that he can watch Claude work.

“At least you're not infected. Or worse - some of my men use poison arrows.”

Claude wets the cloth and reaches out to clean the wound, moving with slow care. 

Dimitri doesn't respond quite yet and for all that he's ready for it, the first press of fingers against his chest makes him go tense with apprehension, a quick breath caught in his throat. But all that Claude does is bring the cloth up to clean his wound, and the accompanying sting of it is nowhere near the sort of pain it caused going in and so Dimitri ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the calmer touch.

It's not like Claude is babying him or treating him with exceptional care. Dimitri doesn't know why the presence of him there puts him so on edge, when he knows that he could easily overpower the man if he wanted, snap his neck and in a single swift blow, destroy the Alliance beneath him. And yet, his heart beats firmly against his chest in something that isn't quite fear, but definitely isn't _comfort_, either. And he's trying to focus on that, because if he's missing something or if he's forgotten something then he needs to know what it is, he needs to trust his instincts and think because his instincts are often right, so maybe Claude _is_ up to something and maybe he _should_ kill him, and that's when Dimitri realizes-

-he hasn't been touched like this in years.

The thought hits him like a physical blow and he takes a deep breath, pulling sharply away from Claude's ministrations and holding a hand up in a silent _stop_.

“Why did you come in here?”

He asks suddenly - and yes, he knows that he gave Claude permission, but for him to actually do it? After what Dimitri has done to his men, what he almost did to _him_? It's not paranoia so much as it is a spike of something else, a realization about the game that Claude is playing, a deeper understanding of his own needs and how easily he thinks that they could be manipulated.

For his part, Claude stops when Dimitri pulls away, sets down the cloth in the basin of water and looks at him. He looks contemplative more than confused, but as always, as he’s been since he first walked into the prison over a week ago, he’s careful. Dimitri knows that he has his reasons, and so maybe the question was a stupid one, but that doesn’t settle the unease in his stomach.

“You won't let the healers in, and someone needs to look at your wounds.” It’s practical and obvious, and Dimitri knows even from their school days that Claude is never without a scheme and so while he’d like to believe him, he can’t quite. Claude seems to note this and continues, baring a little more honesty in the process. “I want you to trust me. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but someday. And trying to gain your trust without offering my own is a fool's game.”

Dimitri has all the reason in the world to distrust Claude, to distrust everyone. He's been betrayed by everyone, has had his entire world shattered by the betrayal. If Claude were to keep himself completely guarded and to wait for Dimitri to offer his trust first, Dimitri would grow old and die in this cell.

So here Claude is, trusting Dimitri with the his life. He could kill Claude. He might - Dimitri still doesn’t know what’s going to happen, so it’s not impossible. But Claude extended his hand first, so that maybe he could ask Dimitri to do so in turn. Even at the Academy, Dimitri has never been as good at playing this sort of game as Claude, or even Edelgard. He had always preferred a simple politeness, backed up with a firm show of force if necessary. And Claude is - Claude is polite, but he's something else too, and Dimitri can't quite put his finger on what.

Still, Claude's answer seems shockingly honest, so much so that it gives him pause as he has to figure out what to do with what can only be the truth. He mulls it over, slowly easing himself back into how he was sitting earlier with a single, short nod, granting permission for Claude to resume if he likes.

While he does, Dimitri tries to ignore the contact and turn his mind on easier targets - how to escape, how to get to Enbarr, how to impale Edelgard on his lance and throw her from the walls of her fortress. He failed at Gronder Field but he would not fail again. And Claude... Claude is fighting back Imperial forces as well, he thinks, and he's never been one for fighting. He'll want an end to this too, just perhaps in a less visceral way than Dimitri imagines.

When he puts it like that, the answer to why he took Dimitri back with him instead of just letting him die becomes a little clearer.

“...the Kingdom army is fighting a civil war,” he finally says, staring down at the floor. Dimitri had failed to address that - instead, he'd taken the gutted army of those who would still recognize him as king and marched straight South, without a second glance back toward home. He'd do it again, he thinks. “The men and women who would have rallied behind me are dead at Gronder. Even if your plan worked and I felt indebted to you, I have nothing to offer.”

It's probably the most he's said in one go since coming here, and it speaks _something_ to the sanity that he still retains, if he can consider his options enough to know this much. Dimitri wets his lips, letting out a long breath. He's in no position to negotiate, but his stubbornness and his fixation on his own quest still drive him, enough to make demands of the man who really has no business even entertaining _this_ much.

“I want you to give me my weapons. A horse. I'll ride for Enbarr and end this. If you want to trust me, trust me with that.”

Meanwhile, Claude has returned to his task, cleaning Dimitri’s wound, being thorough about it. He can’t use magic obviously, but he moves with the practiced air of a man who has taken care of such injuries before.

“I trust that you would do exactly that, but to succeed? You're strong, Dimitri, and you are likely the bravest man I know. But you are not a god or a one-man army. You would end yourself, with that plan.” The hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Luckily, coming up with plans is a strength of mine.”

Dimitri isn’t sure what to make of that. He knows that Claude has no personal grudge against Edelgard. He has his ambitions, his ideals, something inscrutable that Dimitri can’t make sense of yet.

“-and you are wrong. Those who fought with you at Gronder fled when you fell and we didn't have the resources to pursue them. If they knew you lived, they would likely return.”

The implications of that aren't lost on him, and Dimitri turns his head sharply as it suddenly becomes clearer, just what Claude might be offering. He watches the pinkened water ripple in the basin, recalculating what he knows of Claude and what resources he may have. Dimitri doesn't hope - he knows far too well to never _hope_ for anything- but the path before him suddenly seems a bit clearer, a fraction easier to see through.

“You would help me?”

It's said a little incredulously - for the first time, caught off guard by Claude's wit. It also seems a rather silly thing to ask the same man who could be living in the lap of luxury or engineering to have his prisoner traded for an immense gain, but is instead kneeling in a cell and wiping clean Dimitri's wounds. In the moment though, it comes as enough of a surprise that he _must_ ask it.

And then of course, there's the rest of the information too, that his allies may still be alive, that they may come back. He would not have to do this alone if that was the case, he could bring an army straight to her doorstep and kill her there, and then-

-then, he doesn't care. If Claude wants the Empire, he can have it. If he wants the Kingdom, it's his. All that matters is ending her, and if Claude will help him...

“How soon?”

Claude smiles again and it still doesn’t seem genuine, but there’s something different behind it now - exasperation or amusement? Something that makes Dimitri suspicious, but he can’t lose his grasp on the kernel of hope that Claude has shown him all the same.

“Our goals are the same. I want the Empire to fall, you want Edelgard's head. We can help each other.”

He sets the dirtied cloth and the basin of water aside and uncaps the healing salve. He spreads it carefully around the edges of Dimitri's wound, making sure not to miss a spot. It should prevent any possibility of infection as well as speeding the healing process - not as quickly as a spell, but better than nothing at all.

“We'll be taking Fort Merceus later this month. After that, we march on Enbarr.”

Dimitri exhales sharply at the touch of the salve on his wound, but relaxes into it, much like he'd grown accustomed to the rest of Claude's care. The simple possibilities that open to him with Claude's planning breathes a new kind of life into him. Once a walking dead man, he feels awake for the first time since he'd stood in front of his meager army those weeks ago.

He's not so prideful as to refuse help, especially when it gets him closer to his goal, and while he'd love to be able to do this himself, he knows that the idea of it is unlikely to happen. In the span of a few moments, Claude has gone from his jailer to his greatest chance at vengeance, and Dimitri nods in understanding as he listens to the plans.

Claude speaks as if taking a supposedly impregnable fortress is a foregone conclusion. If the two of them joined forces, Dimitri thinks, it might as well be.

“...fine.”

He agrees, after a long moment. It will take longer if he has to wait the month, longer still if they have to route an army down through Fort Merceus when a single man on horseback could likely bypass it altogether... but the odds of him making it to Enbarr are admittedly much higher with Claude, even when attacking a fortress made to be the most defensible position in the country.

They have a few weeks to prepare. Can they raise the dregs of the kingdom army by then, he wonders? Can word even get out in time? It doesn't matter - if Claude marches, he'll follow, regardless of how many men he can command into battle with him.

“I'm going with you.”

Dimitri says it presumptuously, as if Claude had even offered it in the first place. He is apparently not very good at remembering that he's currently in a jail cell.

The change of heart must seem sudden, and Claude’s mask slips for a fraction of a second to show his surprise before he relaxes again as he understands the situation before him. Dimitri has a single goal, one that he’s been focused on for the past five years, one that he will stop at nothing to achieve - if Claude can provide him a path to that goal, he will take it, regardless of whatever else that path entails.

Dimitri is a man obsessed, broken in some ways, barely more than an animal in others. But he is strong, he refuses to fall, and he’s a capable ally if he can stay sane enough to know friend from foe.

“We'll get you in fighting condition by then. If you take the field with us at Fort Merceus, word will spread quickly, and those loyal to you will join us to topple Enbarr.” Claude pauses, before smiling again. 

“If you're joining us, I'll have to find you a better room.”

A plan begins to form in his mind, his undying drive for revenge reshaping him until he's almost the kind of person that Claude can talk with, can fight with again. As much as Dimitri had known _of_ Claude and some form of war skirmishes happening to the East, he'd assumed that the worst of it was laid upon the Kingdom and that Claude was staying out of it when he could. To hear otherwise though, is... heartening, and now he has something to work toward again that isn't simply throwing himself toward Edelgard until something else killed him.

When Claude says that Dimitri will be set free… well, _that_ makes him look at him, really _look_ at him for the first time, his eye a piercing blue and unaccustomed to hiding his emotions after living on his own for so long. He's surprised - though he suppose that he did just forge an alliance with Claude, and he's... maybe feeling the slightest bit of sentiment as well, to be trusted again with something that Claude really has no right granting him.

(It's the first time he's looked at Claude's face, too - and Dimitri notices the scraps of facial hair, the way his chin and strong brow had grown into his cheeks and makes him look more authoritative, more like a leader. And yet, there is always the unmistakable trace of boyish pleasure in his eyes, the kind of look that Dimitri never quite trusted in school, but now finds that he _must_.)

Claude is letting him go - to join with him, but letting him go all the same. Dimitri could do any number of things once he's out, but he knows that he'll go along with Claude's plan for now. It's simply the best option for him.

So he nods quietly, just a quick tip of his chin.

“Good.”

Further into Empire territory then, further from Faerghus and its world of troubles - but there's nothing for him back there, and _everything_ further South. Any survivors who can make the journey will join them, and with that they'll have all they need to take Enbarr.

It's too much to take sitting down and so he pulls away from Claude again (these wounds will never be bandaged at this rate) standing in a rush and moving to pace about the cell, each thought forming too quickly for the last to finish. He's getting out, he's going South, he's getting _another chance_.

Then, it suddenly occurs to him that he has no clue where he is, or where they're even geographically located in relation to Fort Merceus. He'd fought against captivity tooth and nail every moment of his consciousness and so the journey from their battle was a blur and the final destination even less so.

“-where are we now?”

For his part, Claude doesn’t seem too annoyed that Dimitri has pulled away from him yet again before he can get a bandage off, and simply offers the answer with an amused but genuine smile.

“Garreg Mach. Our base of operations. You're in one of the cellars. I guess none of us spent much time down here as students, so it's no wonder you don't recognize it.”

Garreg Mach... Claude is full of surprises, it seems. Dimitri stills for a moment as it falls into place around him - of course he would have a reunion with Claude here, of all places. They once bickered here about Claude's defensive tactics in the mock battle, they once competed their houses against one another in all manner of irrelevant contests for absolutely forgettable prizes.

He reaches an arm out, brushing his fingers against the wall. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“You can have your old room back," Claude continues, “I don't think anyone's using it.”

And further still, because the memories between now and then are marred by another time he'd been up to the monastery, before the other members of his house had found him and convinced him to let them follow him South. He'd trapped and eaten the rats in the kitchen, he remembers, set up a small campfire in the cathedral. He'd never explored much, but the place was good to hide in, away from imperial patrols and other prying eyes.

“I was here before,” Dimitri admits, growing more and more comfortable with the familiarity between them, offering information freely now that he has some reason to do so again, “after I left Fhirdiad.”

After he was forced to leave. Imprisoned for the murder of the regent, sentenced to death - but they both know that part and there's no reason to go further into it. The passage of time isn't exactly the clearest thing in his mind, but he thinks - maybe a year ago was when he left the monastery again? Maybe two? All he knows is that the place was abandoned then.

“We must have-” He cuts himself off before he can finish his sentence, but Claude probably knows what he was about to say. _We must have just missed one another_. Strange. 

“...it's a good place to hold.”

Claude takes that in with some sort of solemn contemplation.

“We knew people had been living here - smugglers, mostly. Bandits. People displaced by the war. No one permanent.”

Dimitri shakes his head, vitriol entering his tone once more.

“They'd gone through most of the treasury by the time I was here. Then when I was here, they came again to strip the inlay from the cathedral. _Filth_.” His lip curls back in disdain where he once might have had pity. “I killed enough of them to set them off for awhile.”

And to start rumors of the place being haunted by some specter - _perhaps the same one who used to abduct students?_ Rumors that later lead him to leave this place, before someone decided to investigate with an army.

Claude doesn’t react with horror the way others have when Dimitri speaks of his violence. Instead he just nods, understanding, taking it in.

“The monks will be thankful. But despite all that, we're safe here. We have time to plan our attack on the fort, and time for you to heal.” He raises an eyebrow, finally allowing amusement to seep into his expression and tone. “Not that that'll ever happen if you don't let me bandage you.”

Dimitri isn't expecting the sudden light admonishment and it actually surprises him, when Claude has been choosing his words so carefully in the past few weeks. Maybe they're both getting a little more comfortable with one another, he thinks. How odd.

When the other Blue Lions had found him, convinced him to let them travel with him, told him that they'd go South with him, it had been far more... abrasive than Claude's gentle conversation and idle chatter had been. They'd been excited, _elated_ to see him alive - and ultimately, disappointed when he hadn't measured up to their expectations. It had been so long since he'd even tried to hold even a conversation, that the sudden attachment of half a dozen childhood friends and pressures of trying to lead an army had collapsed him under its weight.

Claude hasn't been like that - hasn't given him responsibilities that he can’t handle, hasn't even turned on him despite Dimitri almost murdering him with his bare hands. Claude doesn't know what the past few years have been like for him, but he seems to understand anyway, moreso than any of the others who had met up with him until now.

So maybe that's the reason that he relents and shifts to sit back near Claude's side rather than lashing out into one of his all-too-familiar rages. Claude seems surprised by it, but like he had before, he gets over it quickly and moves to finish tending to him. He unwinds the bandages and begins wrapping Dimitri's wound. He is precise and neat, careful not to make them too tight. While he works, he continues talking about Garreg Mach, as it seems to be a relatively safe topic between the two of them.

“We've rebuilt. It's not quite what it once was, but it's livable now. Safe.“ He secures the end of the bandage and surveys his handiwork, the clean bandage against Dimitri's skin. His eyes stray for a moment to the other scars, wickedly done, poorly healed. Some things can't be fixed. “Better?”

Dimitri nods, reaching out and catching the edge of his borrowed shirt with his fingers and tugging to slip it back on.

If he feels Claude's eyes on him, he says nothing, instead busying himself with his cloak, to tug the massive thing back over his shoulders and fasten it deftly across his collarbone. There's more injuries to be dealt with, but Dimitri has had his fill of Claude's careful hands on him - and he wants to get out of this cell. He can take care of the rest of his wounds in his old bedroom if permitted.

His eyes flicker down to the red-tinged water, the cloth that Claude had cleaned him with, the spool of clean bandages, and he tries not to think about how Claude’s risk has paid off for him.

“Did you get the baths to work again?”

He asks, offhandedly - the water reminds him that it's been far too long since he'd bothered to rinse the blood and grime of the battlefield off of his skin, and just the short cleaning of his shoulder had felt... well, oddly refreshing, enough so that he's curious enough to ask the question.

When he was last here, it hadn't mattered so much. The tepid water left in the pools had evaporated and the mechanisms with which to fill it had been rusted shut. Dimitri hadn't bothered enough to care, then. He was among other beasts, and it hadn't mattered. Part of him still feels the same. But... if he's going to be around men, he may as well act it, even if it's just for long enough to get him in front of Edelgard.

The question makes a small light of pride come to Claude’s eyes, along with something that might be excitement, if Dimitri is reading him right.

“The baths, the kitchens... practically everything is up and running again. Come on, I’ll show you.”

And that's it. That's all it takes. Claude calls for the guard, who opens the cell, and then he ushers Dimitri out - making sure to pick up the book he brought, not wanting it to be left behind. The guard's eyes widen for only a moment. This is, indeed, far above his pay grade. If the commander of their armies wants to simply walk out of the cell with the prisoner, the guard is going to let it happen. He does not quite look at Dimitri, clearly intimidated.

Not a problem Claude has, of course. He waits for Dimitri to exit the cell, then leads him through the warren of the monastery cellars and out toward sun.

Dimitri had entered this cell a dead man. The creature who steps out is - perhaps not _alive_, not yet, not fully, but he has some new form of purpose now, another ally that he hadn't considered, someone else to extend a hand to him and pick him up off the ground. Dimitri doesn't fully appreciate it yet, not when he's singlemindedly focused on Edelgard... but in time, he will realize the full extent of what Claude is doing and the risk that he's taking, all due to some strange belief that he still seems to have in Dimitri's character.

Dimitri doesn't pay the guard any mind, as if he barely notices the man's existence - instead he trails behind Claude, following him partially up the stone staircase. When Claude opens the door to the outside world, Dimitri goes tense again, pulling back momentarily from the bright light that sears itself into his vision. He steadies himself with a hand on the wall, his thumb brushing along the stone as if to put his mind on a different sensation - but eventually he follows, almost meek as he steps out into the sun.

_

It's easy to tell why there was pride in Claude's voice when he was discussing the renovations. Dimitri had seen the castle in the depths of its disrepair when he'd come back to it and knew just how far gone the building was, after the Imperial army had razed it to the ground. But to look at it now... it's brimming with life. Flowers are blooming, cats are scurrying about - even the people have returned.

He's uncomfortable around them immediately, having not been around crowds for so long, and Dimitri stays close to Claude's heel, furtively glancing at those around him and bristling should anyone come too close.

There are sidelong looks, occasional stares from the people around them. They are more or less used to Claude walking around, often with one noble or another, but Dimitri is something else entirely. He has a particular presence, something intimidating that both draws the eye and makes you want to look away. Claude simply treats it like it's entirely normal for him to be walking with a ghost.

“How long have you been here?” Dimitri asks, glancing up toward one of the ramparts - still crumbled from when it had been destroyed by a catapult, but with new scaffolding built around it to step onto and continue the path around the upper walls of the monastery.

“A few months. As soon as people knew we were here, they began to come back and rebuild.”

Claude leads Dimitri around, pointing out repairs, improvements, the merchants who have been returning. Once, he stops to pet a few of the cats. For the most part, Dimitri is content to trail after Claude in silence, not really offering much input at any of the commentary. In the daylight, with so many people around... it brings back memories that at the time were happy, but now only seem bittersweet. He remembers-

He remembers taking to the training grounds with Felix and Ingrid, sparring healthily and laughing it all off afterward as they passed a waterskin around. He remembers Dedue - sweet, dedicated Dedue - hunched over dutifully in the gardens, the only place where others wouldn't stare at him and whisper as they walked past. He remembers Marianne and Lorenz with the horses on the stable duty before his and Sylvain's, and the jokes that they'd share as they traded off shifts. He remembers wondering if Bernadetta was new in the third month, for how little he'd seen seen her.

He'd killed her, he remembers abruptly. Her eyes had gone wide up on the archer tower as she saw him approach and she'd pleaded with him, stumbling backward and lifting the bow in her shaking hands to aim an arrow at him. 

Dimitri had once borrowed a book from her in this hall.

So much of their time spent here uselessly, so many of them dead or soon to be that way. If he starts to look back, he'll never stop.

“What would you like first? A bed, a bath, a meal?” Claude smiles, easy and oblivious to the thoughts in his mind- or perhaps he isn’t, perhaps he’s trying to distract him. Dimitri has never been good at reading him. “You're my guest now, after all.”

Dimitri blinks quickly, snapped out of his reverie and tries to come up with some sort of answer fast enough to get them both away from this place.

“-my room,” he eventually grumbles, nodding back toward the dormitories, “I want to see it.”

Claude nods, acknowledging that, and leads Dimitri back through the monastery, towards their rooms.

_

The dormitories are mostly empty. The monks have their own sleeping quarters, the guards their bunkhouse. The former students and teachers are the only ones who would use these rooms, and their numbers are drastically decreased. But they have been restored, they are in decent repair, and so Claude leads Dimitri to his old room.

“Here, right?”

Claude had never had reason to visit Dimitri's room when they were here together, but their rooms are close enough - only one room apart - that they knew where one another was, and so it doesn’t surprise Dimitri that Claude has remembered where he used to stay.

It's been restored, what damage has been done. Dimitri can see that already.

He walks into the room and... it feels so surreal that he almost doesn't dare to breathe, for fear of breaking whatever spell is over this place. It had been damaged and pillaged by thieves at one point, restored later on, but the bones of it are still here and unchanging. Dimitri slowly slides his fingers along the edge of his desk, silent as he takes in the memories that this place holds.

They'd had to pack in a hurry. With Imperial soldiers storming the gates, the call to retreat had been made. Dimitri had fought tooth and nail against the call, needing to get out there, needing to get at _her_, but had relented upon the realization that the students needed some form of leadership - and with most of the teachers and the knights still holding everyone at bay, he'd rushed back to his room, to this place, to grab only the necessities so that they could flee.

There's a dusty training sword in the corner, useless to a thief. A broken pair of scissors and a few bent sewing needles on his desk, some of which had been scattered to the ground. A book on the floor - Dimitri slowly crouches to pick it up, gently dusting off the cover as he looks at it - some sort of dissertation on the many treaties that had held the Empire and Kingdom in relative stability, something that he'd once poured through for any sort of information he could learn about his fellow students and the compromises their families had made for peace.

Dimitri lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and drops it back to the floor, shaking his head as he stands.

“No.”

It's too much in here, with the memories of his boyhood days - how naive, how _stupid_ he was, to play along and laugh with them when he should have known, should have done something, should have _fought harder_-

Dimitri takes a step back, turning with a sweep of his cloak and moving to leave the room, shouldering past Claude to do so.

“I'm staying elsewhere.”

Claude, who has been watching most of this in silence, lets Dimitri push past him. He doesn’t seem offended - he doesn’t seem anything at all, really, his face schooled into a careful expression.

“Most of the rooms are free. You can have your pick.” 

He says it with a smile, but nothing in that smile is real. Dimitri knows that what he means is that some of their former occupants are dead, some of them are standing with Edelgard, some are scattered to the winds. The dead ones - dead at Dimitri's hand or Claude's - no one can do anything about. Edelgard's followers will, sooner or later, join them in death.

And the rest?

Maybe they'll come when word begins to spread that Dimitri is here. Dimitri doubts that, but he knows that Claude is banking on it. Why else have him here, if not to bolster his forces with the Kingdom’s own fragmented army?

Dimitri tries not to think about it anymore and turns to move down the hall. He doesn’t need to move far - there are too many rooms with closed doors, rooms that give way to red-carpeted rooms and furnishings, but he knows that there’s one that will be free, and so he moves just one door over, stepping inside and removing his cloak in one smooth motion to toss on the bed, claiming it in a sense.

Sylvain's room. Whether consciously or not, he'd steered clear of Felix's old room and instead settled in one from someone who probably wouldn't mind, if asked. Goddess knows that Sylvain hadn't minded when Dimitri had hidden here after trying to disastrously flirt with one of the girls from another class. He'd laughed instead, and- 

It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.

Dimitri doesn't bother with cleaning up or getting anything in order - what it is now is good enough for his purposes, and so he turns back to Claude with a short nod. This will do.

“My weapons.”

It's almost - no, _entirely_ \- like he expects Claude to have nothing better to do than to show him around like this, like he doesn't have an army to run or negotiations to manage. Dimitri is blunt and demanding, nothing like the bashful and polite prince he'd once been here. If Claude doesn't like it, he can refuse.

If the fact that he's asking for his weapons less than an hour after he was let out of a jail cell seems a bit too hasty, Dimitri doesn't notice. He feels too vulnerable without them, particularly in a place with so many people around.

For his part, Claude simply ignores that the demands edge on rudeness with a practiced air that makes it seem like he’s used to that sort of thing, which Dimitri supposes he is.

“They're in the armory. I'll send someone for them.” There’s a pause then, and Claude watches Dimitri for a moment though his focus isn’t on him, not really. Dimitri can see the wheels turning in his mind and wonders what it is: if Claude regrets what he’s done, if he’s having second thoughts, or if he’s simply too busy to keep escorting him around like some kind of guardian.

“...you know, everything is still in the same place,” Claude eventually offers.

The third option, then. Dimitri isn’t surprised. He understands someone excusing themselves when he hears it, and there's no doubt in his mind that Claude has other things to worry about. While he'd be concerned about moving around this place on his own... well, the guards had seen him with Claude as they moved through the monastery earlier, and he's sure that the Alliance leader will quickly get the word out to his people about Dimitri's situation.

Namely, that he's a free man now and that he can have full reign across the grounds here. Not that he particularly plans on doing a lot of exploring himself, but he knows the path to the baths, the dining hall, the training quarters - nothing else is necessary.

“Good. Leave.”

Dimitri doesn't entirely _want_ Claude to go, if he's being honest. He still doesn't want to go out there on his own with so many people around who will be staring, seeing him for what he is, even if they do know that he's allied with Claude for now... but he doesn't want to be the one keeping Claude like some mewling pup who can't even find its own legs. No, he can take care of himself here and what he doesn't know, he'll figure out.

Dimitri doesn't leave a lot of room for argument either - he turns his back to Claude, stepping toward Sylvain's old desk to search through it roughly, the wood protesting on its rails as it's jarred out of position.

_

Claude smiles at the blunt dismissal, amused, but Dimitri doesn’t see his expression. He's succeeded here, Dimitri has chosen to ally himself with them, which is the best possible outcome to any of his plans. He didn't like seeing the other man in that cell anyway.

But at the same time, it was - something of a reprieve. Claude doesn't have much time away from the politics and the strategy meetings and the endless planning. What he does claim for himself needs to be carved out. He can take an hour or two to care for his wyvern, a bit of time to catch up with his old housemates, a moment in the greenhouse. Visiting Dimitri was like that - not outside of politics, but narrowed down to just one small interaction, where Claude was fully aware of what Dimitri wanted from him and he didn't need to balance competing demands.

That's over now, and Dimitri will be part of the war council - Claude will insist on it, though he knows few of the nobles will put up more than a token fight. 

Oh, well. This is for the best and Dimitri is free, and it is rather odd to have even a moment of regret that they will no longer be able to speak outside the bounds of strategy. It isn't as if Dimitri enjoyed talking to him, in any case.

“I'll be in the council room if you need me.“

And he leaves, trusting that Dimitri isn't going to disappear the moment he turns his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us on twitter for updates and general crying about these two ;D
> 
> Dimitri PoV: Rae [@unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated)  
Claude PoV: Manda [@asaelfic](https://twitter.com/asaelfic)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is settling in, as much as he can. Claude is getting used to having him around, too, and he might even be starting to understand him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please gaze upon this [absolutely stunning piece of art](https://twitter.com/antiquecipher/status/1171842773772730368) Kels made of a moment from chapter 2. She is a goddess.

Predictably, Dimitri storms out of the war council.

His frustration had been evident throughout all of Claude's careful planning, boiling over as his input was calmly rejected. Claude knows he's never cared for clever tactics or tricks - Dimitri prefers to take the most direct path, even when it causes him more losses and results in more bloodshed. Likely in his mind, he's strong enough to handle it, and anyone who isn't may as well deserve their fate. Fortunately, most don't agree with him, and while he may be a prince, he has no role of leadership above anyone else and all those who would blindly follow him are far away.

The past few weeks have been something of a blur, and it's difficult to believe that it's almost been a month since Claude had captured Dimitri after the battle of Gronder, held him in a cell for a week, and offered to take Dimitri with him when he stormed Enbarr. It's only been a long handful of days since he'd been granted his freedom, but Dimitri has become something of a shadow in Garreg Mach since.

Claude has been keeping an eye on him, because he’s no fool. Dimitri generally only leaves his room after nightfall, to creep into the kitchens and steal something away to eat throughout the next day. He bathes when no one else is around, opens the creaking doors of the ruined Cathedral after most have left their prayers for the day. He stands there before the altar and talks to people who aren't there, his voice starting as a whisper but slowly growing higher in jagged, desperate pleas. Whoever - or whatever - he's talking to never seems to be particularly kind to him.

As the meeting concludes, Claude sees Dimitri outside the council room, against the opposite wall, darkly glaring at the rest of the council as they begin to exit the room.

Some of the nobles, the less strong-minded ones, can't meet Dimitri's eyes. Others scowl at him, and still others actually look approving. Not everyone sides with Claude, after all, and some openly dislike his plans. They're too clever by half, they say, they're not the mark of a true warrior. Open battle is the only proper choice.

But Claude has always believed that winning is the only proper choice. He carries the arguments, nearly always, because of his past victories and his plans. But they don't all like it.

And, of course, some of them simply don't like the addition of Dimitri to their councils. Claude had insisted on it, as Dimitri is a valued ally, but there were arguments about that, too. Nothing ever seems to go easily in the Alliance, and though Claude is its leader, they are by no means perfectly loyal. Not so long ago, some were on the verge of allying with Edelgard.

Claude lets everyone exit the room before him. Lorenz - often one of the voices arguing against Claude's, but in the end nearly always coming around to his way of thinking - eyes Dimitri with some suspicion as he exits. It's in his nature, but he's also one of the people here who remembers Dimitri as he once was, who sees all the changes, and who is disturbed by them. He's not the only one. But none of them approach him, and whether that's out of fear or disinterest or because Claude has asked them to give him some space is uncertain.

Claude is sure that Dimitri recognizes his former classmates, but he has barely spoken to any of them even so - and when he does, it's typically in this room and with a raised voice. Otherwise, he leaves well enough alone, stays confined to his room doing goddess-only-knows what with his time.

Lorenz moves on, and Claude finally makes his way out of the room. He is straight-backed still, a smile on his face, but god, he's tired.

He stops in front of Dimitri. “Sorry we can't do it your way. It'd be a lot easier, I know.”

Perhaps he’s only flattering himself, but Claude thinks Dimitri feels more comfortable around him than - well, anyone else in the monastery. He sometimes seeks Claude out when he's not in his room, after all. Dimitri must know that Claude is a busy man because he doesn’t bother him when he's preoccupied elsewhere, but he's definitely spent a few hours in Claude's company when not in the war room and seems to prefer to be near him when he's out in the daylight of the monastery. It might be called self-preservation; though none here would harm him and he's in no danger of being locked back up again, having Claude around prevents anyone from approaching him too aggressively.

It could also be... loneliness, maybe. Dimitri has spent the last five years in relative solitude after being groomed and prepared to be a leader for his entire life, always around others, always socializing, polite and gentle with those around him. Perhaps being near Claude reminds him of that person, even if that person is dead, even if the current Dimitri speaks only a few words, and almost all of them are acidic in some way.

Predictably, he scoffs when Claude apologizes to him, lifting himself up from the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. Dissatisfied yes, but somewhat placated by the apology. 

“I don't want to hear it,” he says in a low growl, but he doesn't walk away, choosing instead to glare darkly at Claude from under his messy (but thankfully, finally, clean) hair. “If you must resort to such cowardly acts, then I'll go through the gates alone. They won't ignore me.”

“If anything would frighten them into simply handing the fort over, it would be that,” Claude says, laughter in his voice.

Now that the nobles have gone, Claude allows his shoulders to slump every so slightly, allows some of his weariness to creep into his posture. Dimitri, after all, is not likely to use that against him. Some of the nobles would be happy to seize on the slightest sign of weakness, but Dimitri is not that sort of person. He is different now, yes, but he's still straightforward and earnest in his own way and not likely to try to take advantage of a momentary lapse in Claude's mask.

“My plan will work,” Claude continues, “and it's the best way to take the fort with the fewest casualties. Go along with this, and I promise when we get to Enbarr I won't try to tell you what to do.”

Right now, Dimitri is alone and Claude can't trust that any soldiers assigned to him would be able to work with him well. After Fort Merceus Claude is counting on Dimitri's loyalists to flock to his banner - and then Dimitri will be in a good position to do as he pleases. It fits well into Claude's plans: Dimitri attacking the city head-on while Claude's forces find other ways in. It'll work for Enbarr, but not for their next battle.

He wants Dimitri to trust him in this, but he knows they haven't really ever fought together like this before. He'll have to prove himself.

“Just be patient a little longer.”

Dimitri’s nostrils flare at the word, letting out a short and heated breath. 

“The dead will not be kept waiting for the politics of men,” he mutters, dissatisfied but ultimately relenting, as Claude has gently managed to get him to do often since arriving here. He starts walking through the halls, motioning for Claude to follow him. “I'll hold you to that promise. For now, I follow your lead.”

Claude follows, because he has nothing else to do.

Well - that's emphatically not true. They march on the fort in mere days. He should double-check everything, talk to his battalion leaders, be sure his weapons and wyvern are ready. He should check in with his housemates, be sure they are ready. He should speak to Seteth and see if he can learn any more about the secrets Rhea was keeping.

But he's tired, and all of that can wait until tomorrow. Or at least for an hour or two. Talking to Dimitri is not a waste of time either, and it's marginally less stressful than some of the other options - which is an odd thing to think, all things considered, but true.

“I won't fail you.”

His response is soft, almost a murmur, because he doesn't think Dimitri really cares about his reassurances. But it's there nonetheless. Claude wants this, has been working himself to the bone for success in this battle and all those to come. He has a goal, he has ambitions, and now providing Dimitri the revenge he seeks is one of those.

It's for Dimitri, of course, because he thinks that is the only way to truly begin to let him heal. It's also for Fódlan, to drag it out of this abyss of war, give it a leader and hope that it hasn't had for years. And if Dimitri is to be king, all the better that the land's freedom comes at Dimitri's hands.

If Claude has his way, Dimitri will be king. 

He hasn’t mentioned this to the man himself yet. He doesn’t think Dimitri is ready to hear it, or will welcome it when he does, and their alliance still feels too fragile. But who better than Dimitri? The King of Faerghus, who has suffered at Edelgard’s hand, who has fought hard to survive and find justice. There is no better option - certainly not Claude himself, who has to return to Almyra someday.

Dimitri won’t like it, and in truth he’s clearly not ready for it. But Claude has faith that he will be someday, and until then Claude will clear the path for him. Claude will scheme and plan and make it happen, though Dimitri may hate him for it. 

He's not in this for his own glory.

Belatedly, he wonders if Dimitri has a destination in mind or if they're just getting away from the war room. “Where are we going?”

Dimitri doesn't answer the question immediately, but after a long few moments of silence he turns as they exit the long hallway that once used to lead to the infirmary. “I'm going to the Cathedral.”

Claude follows. The quiet of the Cathedral sounds nice right now, after all that arguing, and maybe it'll restore a bit of his energy. People generally leave each other alone there - perhaps it seems a bit impolite to interrupt someone who might be there to pray.

He doesn't go often. He doesn't pray often. His actual beliefs are close enough to heresy that Claude tends to avoid the subject of religion, which is surprisingly easy considering he lives in a monastery and his army is supported by the Knights of Seiros. It just doesn't come up most of the time, and he's happy not to enlighten anyone on his true beliefs.

Besides, though it isn't for him, he knows religion is a comfort and a balm for many. He would never want to destroy that.

“We do have a battle ahead,” he says, voice light. “I suppose a few prayers wouldn't go amiss.”

Anything that might bring them through victorious, after all.

There are losses in every battle. Claude knows it is selfish, but most of the time all he hopes for is victory and that those he cares for will survive. But everyone is cared for by someone. Still, in war there will be death, again and again.

He does hope that Dimitri has enough to live for now that he won't end up being one of those deaths.

A sound escapes from Dimitri that is almost a laugh, but more like a breathy scoff. 

“I don't pray to the goddess,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s really admitting anything - more just a statement of fact, correcting Claude's assumption sharply, and what a pair they make, the leader of the holy knights and the prince of the holy kingdom, going to the cathedral to sacrilege in their own ways. “Anyone in this war who does is a fool.”

Once Claude thinks about it, it isn’t surprising that Dimitri has complicated feelings toward his own religion. After all, if the goddess was truly behind all things, then she allowed the Tragedy to occur, she allowed the monastery to fall, she allowed the holy kingdom to be ruled by deceitful tyrants, she allowed Edelgard to get away with this war for the past five years. That would cause anyone to have some doubts.

“Not a fool,” Claude says. “Just a person looking for comfort.”

He's not disagreeing, exactly - Claude doesn't see any reason to pray, after all. But he thinks it does serve a purpose, it does mean something. He thinks Dimitri could use some kind of avenue of comfort, though this clearly is not the right one.

He is fairly sure that Dimitri would say that shattering the spines of his enemies counts as comfort, though, which is also... well, not something Claude can necessarily disagree with, but eventually he's going to run out of enemies.

“Do you pray to something, then?” Claude’s tone is that of mild interest. He's had conversations like this with others, sometimes, who often are reluctant to speak of it. Heresy in the very house of Seiros is difficult to countenance, after all, but Claude isn't likely to go running to the monks about something like that. (Well, about anything, really.) “And why the Cathedral, if not to pray?”

It's a genuine question. He - wants to be able to understand Dimitri. He's always had the sort of mind that wants to learn things, that needs to solve mysteries. It's the same with people, especially those he's interested in. Even if Dimitri doesn't care to understand him.

As Dimitri opens the large doors leading into the inner sanctuary, he is silent, considering Claude’s questions. Claude cannot read him, and does not expect the answer he gets.

“I talk to my father,” Dimitri finally murmurs, his voice so low that it would have been lost to the chatter around them, had the Cathedral not been so silent. “My stepmother. All those who have been taken from me.”

He makes his way down the center of the aisle then, looking up toward the sky through the ruined roof of the once-immaculate building.

“If I don't speak to them, no one else will.”

Claude keeps pace with Dimitri, silent for a long moment as he thinks about that.

“In other lands, there are people who believe that the spirits of our loved ones and our ancestors are always with us,” he says slowly, contemplatively.

It's not just Almyra and Fódlan that Claude is interested in. It's the rest of the world - Brigid, Dagda, everything beyond the oceans. Fódlan is such an insular land, focused on itself, on the balance of the Kingdom and the Alliance and the Empire, focused on the church. It doesn't reach out to other lands, doesn't welcome other peoples or beliefs.

It's why Claude will always be an outsider here, just as he's an outsider in Almyra. These lands don't want to welcome people that are different than what they are used to. He wants that to change, he wants it badly, he wants to make it change.

In this moment, it means that he can hear what Dimitri is saying without horror, without anything but curiosity.

“I've read about them,” he says. “They speak to the dead and believe they're guided by them.”

He doesn't know if the dead speak back. He doesn't know if the dead speak back to _Dimitri_, or if this is some sort of expression of his loss, his pain. He's not sure it actually matters, in the end, and so he continues.

“They would say that by talking to those you've lost, you're honoring them. Honoring all that they were to you.” 

But this is Dimitri, so Claude thinks it's likely that this is more like a haunting.

Dimitri doesn’t seem to have expected that response. He frowns as he thinks, and then finally, he shakes his head.

“The only way I'll bring honor them is with her head on a pike.” It's a determined growl, and his fingers tighten into a fist as he comes to a stop in front of the collapsed rubble over the altar of the church. “The sooner, the better. She took…” His voice trembles here, the word hissed out through his teeth. “...everything from me. I would pay her back in kind, but there is nothing that monster loves.”

Claude can't offer Dimitri comfort. There isn't really comfort for that kind of thing. Claude has been through a lot of things, some of them awful, but he hasn't been through that. All he can offer is what he already has: indeed, Edelgard's head on a pike.

He'll make it happen.

“We'll take all of Fódlan from her,” he says, quiet and certain. “It's not the same, but it's something.”

He knows that Dimitri can't think past that. It's all that he's focused on, all he cares about. But Claude can't help but hope that that will change. For his own plans, of course - if Dimitri is ruined after this, Claude will have no king. But that's not all that matters.

Claude is a schemer, he is the sort of tactician who always has a plan, who has multiple motives, who has schemes within schemes. Sometimes, that means he has to hurt people. But he doesn't want to be a bad person, he doesn't want to be a destroyer. Not like Edelgard, who will ruin anything in pursuit of her goals.

He doesn't want Dimitri to come out of this ruined. Yes, because they need a king, but also because he is Claude's friend, whether he feels the same or not.

“And once we've done that, what would you like to do?” He says it as if it's a foregone conclusion. _Yes, of course we'll shatter Edelgard's armies and remove her head from her shoulders. And then?_

Dimitri does not seem to have anticipated this question, and Claude can practically hear the gears working as he thinks. Finally, he speaks. “...I'll take back Fhirdiad.”

He's not really answering the question that Claude had asked, but Claude thinks it’s likely he doesn't really know how to answer it.

“Imperial loyalists are likely to run there as their posted forces in the Kingdom will be their only protection,” Dimitri continues. “Bringing my army from the South with the Gautier and Fraldarius armies to the East, it would be easy to pincer them where they stand - and publicly execute Cornelia as she once tried to execute me.”

Just because his plans are straightforward doesn't make them boorish - Dimitri clearly has some sort of mind for tactics, even if he's not quite as practiced as Claude himself. It comes so easily to Claude's lips, then, so easily that he almost says it.

_And the throne of all of Fódlan will be yours._

But it's not time yet. Dimitri, clearly, is not in a place where he could hear such a thing and seriously consider it. He's still too focused on revenge, too focused on fighting until he can't fight anymore. Maybe once Edelgard is dead Claude will be able to suggest it, or maybe it will take longer - it doesn't need to be immediate. They'll be rebuilding for some time.

So he'll be patient, and he'll try to get Dimitri back onto level ground. Get him thinking about things besides revenge, thinking about his own life and its worth.

So he doesn't say it. Not yet. Instead, he says: “It's a good plan. I can pledge some support, certainly. We will owe you as much.”

Politics again. Claude can't escape them, and sometimes he doesn't even want to try. It would be nice, though, to have a moment or two to himself.

Hah. Unlikely.

He’s silent again, for a little while, but there is something that’s been in the back of Claude’s mind for some time, and perhaps now he can get an answer.

“You know,” he says, “everyone thought that you were dead. I've always wondered how you managed to escape that fate.”

Dimiti can hear the question in Claude's comment and pauses with a slight wince, as if the thought pains him. 

“...Dedue broke into the prison where I was being kept.” He speaks slowly, his voice shaky with grief. “He freed me. And... sacrificed himself so that I could escape.”

To Claude, it seems as if Dimitri is sinking into his regret, his grief, the things that haunt him. He sees Dimitri take a quick breath, visibly shaking it off as best he can and refocusing on the conversation, the facts.

“I assume Cornelia didn't want to lose face with the Empire or to give the people of Faerghus any hope for a king, so she announced my death all the same. She may have even had someone killed in my stead, I don't know.”

Claude steps closer. He isn't really a tactile person, and he doesn't think Dimitri is either, but even so he doesn't feel comfortable letting this pass without something. He didn't know Dedue well - the man was never willing to talk much to those outside his house. Claude can understand why even without knowing him well. He was hated for who he was, where he came from. A familiar feeling.

Even if he didn't know Dedue well, Claude can mourn his loss. He reaches out and puts a hand on Dimitri's arm - nothing more than that. An offer of solidarity, more than anything. No one is coming out of this war unscathed, and it is difficult to see Dimitri's pain and not want to do something about it.

There's nothing Claude can do, of course, except deliver him his revenge.

“She'll panic when word reaches her that you've joined us.” Claude takes some small pleasure in that. “Still, I'm - sorry to hear about Dedue. He was a brave man.”

He doesn't know what it's like to inspire that kind of loyalty, but he can understand why the Dimitri he once knew would do so. He can understand why all that Dimitri's been through, all of his changes, would not change that loyalty.

Dimitri hasn't responded kindly to most physical contact in a long time. He'd snarled away the healers, pulled back from anyone who would even try to touch him, save for allowing Claude to tend to his wound - but Claude rests his hand on Dimitri's arm and he allows it, as one might allow a friend to comfort them. What's more, he reaches his hand up to touch Claude's own and it's... warmer than Claude would have thought, large enough to easily wield a lance, strong enough to be a weapon in their own right.

For a moment, they’re touching, skin to skin.

He's disarmed by Dimitri's quiet acceptance of his gesture. Somehow he didn't expect it. He expected to be shrugged off, snapped it maybe, or worse. That Dimitri would let him offer comfort in this way - well, it's nice.

Claude has always served as something of a rock for those who get close to him. Outwardly carefree and flippant, but always thinking, planning. Holding his own secrets tightly, but interested in those that belongs to others. He wants to learn about the people he cares about, but he isn't always willing to let them learn about him in return. Even his closest friends don't know his whole story. He knows how difficult it can be, sometimes, to let yourself accept comfort from another.

But maybe he's overthinking it.

“His people deserve better,” Claude says. “When the Empire falls, this land needs to change.”

It's the closest he's come to really discussing his true goals with Dimitri - a land where all are equal, where those who are different are as welcome as those who have been here all along. Duscur is part of that. Almyra. Brigid. It's a grand ambition.

Dimitri lets out a long breath and drops his hand, staring deeply into the rubble of the Cathedral. He is thinking, Claude knows, though he can’t read Dimitri well enough to be sure where his thoughts lead.

“How would you change it?” Dimitri asks finally. “When I was - at one time, I thought to bring change through rebuilding.” His voice lowers, the next sentence spit out through his teeth before he masters himself. “The Empire means to bring change through burning everything to the ground. I've not heard of the Alliance way of doing things.”

It's the first time he's really shown curiosity toward Claude for - well, for anything that he's doing. 

“The Alliance way of doing things is to argue constantly until someone gets fed up and makes things happen,” Claude says with a grin. “My way, on the other hand, is to bring sweeping change at just the time Fódlan is ready for it. We've been at war for years. The commonfolk are suffering, the nobles are tired. When we defeat the Empire, people will be primed to accept something new - a unified Fódlan. The former Empire, your Kingdom, the Alliance, all working together.”

It sounds impossible, but Claude doesn't think that it is. In the power vacuum left by the Empire, they can build something entirely new. Something better.

“And opening ourselves up. We focus so much on our own problems that we shut out everyone else. Think of what we could learn from the countries we shun - think of what we could improve.” He shrugs, smiling still. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I will make it happen.”

“It doesn't sound ridiculous.” Dimitri says it quietly. “But there's still Fort Merceus between you and that goal.”

And Enbarr, and then Fhirdiad, and then - well, there's a lot of work to be done. Claude doesn’t intend to let himself tire. There are so few that he's told his true goals to. They seem too lofty, too ambitious. Impossible, especially for someone like him. When he does speak of them, part of him expects to be scoffed at. To hear Dimitri's quiet support feels surprisingly good. If Dimitri really believes it's possible - well, Claude could use his help.

“With your strength and my schemes, Fort Merceus doesn't stand a chance.” It's a flippant remark, but he does mean it. Dimitri is one man, but he is driven, he is incredibly strong, he is the sort of man that battalions would fear. Claude believes he could take the fort without Dimitri, and with him? There's little that can stand in their way.

He is hopeful. He has always been hopeful - he has to be, with the sort of ambition that he has. They'll take the fort, they'll take Enbarr, they'll move on from there. 

He smiles at Dimitri, as if everything is possible. As if there's only victory before them now.

“I'm glad you're here, Dimitri.”

He says it honestly, with sincerity. He would have mourned Dimitri's death, of course - he did, in fact, when word of it arrived. But he saw it as an unfortunate casualty of war, a sad thing that did not, in the end, affect him beyond his loss of a school friend. Now he is beginning to think differently. The loss of Dimitri would have been a loss to all of Fódlan, yes, but losing this - whatever this friendship is becoming - would have been a grave personal loss, as well.

Claude doesn't have many people he can talk to, and even fewer he can trust. He is, perhaps, not quite there with Dimitri, but they might be. Someday.

It seems to take Dimitri by surprise, and he turns to look at Claude for a long moment.

“Hm.” He doesn't seem to really know how to respond to the gratitude, so he doesn't and eventually turns back to the Cathedral thoughtfully. “How soon will you march to Enbarr after Merceus is taken?”

Back to business. Of course Claude didn't expect any kind of equivalent response from Dimitri, nor is he upset that he didn't get one. He wanted Dimitri to know, he thought it was important that he did. Dimitri is alone here, without his house behind him, with no one but Claude's allies, who are unsure about his presence. But Claude isn't unsure. He hasn't been since the beginning.

He wasn't sure Dimitri would ever choose to ally with him of course, but he was still sure that saving Dimitri was the right thing to do. He didn't deserve to die like that - Claude still believes that to be true, and even more so now. He doesn't need gratitude, he doesn't need an appreciative response to his words. Dimitri, alive and in front of him, is enough.

“We'll need time to heal and resupply,” he says. “A few weeks, at the most. Probably more like a month. We'll need time for any forces loyal to you to join us and integrate with our armies. But if you're antsy, we march on Merceus in two days.”

They're ready. Claude knows they are. And, if he were to be honest, he's somewhat excited to see how their armies fare with Dimitri fighting alongside them.

He can practically sense Dimitri’s impatience, and he sympathizes with it. After everything he’s been through, everything he’s suffered, of course Dimitri wants nothing more than revenge, and of course he doesn’t want to wait for it. But Claude has plans and strategies, and he will keep requiring _patience_ for as long as he must, even if Dimitri hates it.

“...alright. I'll be ready,” Dimitri says, though his shoulders are tense, his mouth set. That reluctant agreement is all that Claude can ask for.

He should go. He has work to do, he has things to prepare. None of them are extremely urgent, but they need to be done sooner or later, and spending his time with Dimitri is not exactly going to help him check things off his to-do list. But he can't regret the time he's spent, either. He feels like - he thinks maybe they understand each other a little better.

But he needs to be responsible. He's a leader.

“I should get back to work.”

A tacit admission that this wasn't work, that this was Claude taking a few moments for himself, choosing to spend them in the company of Dimitri instead of any of the many other things he could or should be doing. That he chose to spend time here, instead of advancing any of his many schemes and plots.

Dimitri nods, acknowledging Claude’s words and dismissing him all at once. Claude swallows his amusement instead of letting it turn to laughter - Dimitri continues to act, in some moments, as if he is in charge here. Claude finds it more endearing than annoying, if he’s being honest.

He leaves the church, but just at the doorway, he finds himself pausing to look back.

Dimitri is silhouetted by the sunlight streaming in the windows. The church is quiet, the light is clear, and for a moment, Claude just looks at him. He was always handsome as a boy. Time and suffering have changed him, but Claude doesn’t think it’s necessarily for the worse. He is still handsome, though far less like a handsome prince and more like - a wild wyvern, perhaps. Fascinating to look at, but if you get too close or make the wrong move you can easily find yourself with its teeth in your throat.

Through luck or cleverness, Claude has avoided that fate. And even with the danger he’s faced, he doesn’t think Dimitri is as far gone as Dimitri seems to think.

Even a wild wyvern can be tamed, with care and caution.

Claude shakes his head at that foolish thought and turns away. He has work to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the battle for Fort Merceus rages around them, Dimitri finds that there is one thing he cannot bear to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, this chapter (and future chapters) will have major spoilers for the Verdant Wind route!

When it's finally time to attack Fort Merceus, Dimitri is ready. He's itching for it as Claude sends his forces around in accordance with his plans, can barely keep still enough to stay in his position and wait - _wait_, Claude had told him earlier, with an urgency in his expression that Dimitri thinks is probably justified given how he hadn't waited at Gronder. He doesn't want to wait now. He's tired of patience when he can practically smell the blood in the air and feel his heart beat faster, faster, _faster_ in eager anticipation.

From her mark, Hilda looks at him but her expression is unreadable. Whether she's trying to ensure that he doesn't charge ahead and ruin the plan or she's trying to figure out just what to think of him is unclear and Dimitri doesn't care. He stares at the door, shoulders tense, lance in hand, waiting for the signal. Waiting. _Waiting._

Claude's eyes were so green when he came to Dimitri personally and asked him to wait until it was time - so earnest, worried maybe that he would bolt at the first opportunity for blood without a steadying hand on his shoulder, but Claude was needed elsewhere for this plan and no one else would dare touch the feral prince. But Claude had asked and Dimitri had made a vow, and though he doesn't put much stock in vows these days, he intends to keep this one. Even if it means _waiting._

Waiting.

Hilda looks away. There's the soft clatter of metal on metal as the soldiers shift uncomfortably behind him. One minute, two, five. Dimitri thinks that his heart might burst.

Then, the piercing shriek of a wyvern cries out from over the ramparts- this is the signal, this is it this is it, _this is it_ \- the archers in the back draw back their bowstrings and dip their arrows into the pitch and flame before sending a volley of flaming arrows over the walls, the other pegasus knights and wyvern riders take to the skies over the east side and the gate that Dimitri has been staring at for what feels like an entire lifetime creaks open with a rapid speed that makes it seem as if the mechanism behind it had been broken somehow.

All of the tension he'd been holding, all the anxiety and stress and frustration is cleaned out of him at the first sight of the Imperial guards moving to try and cover the gate.

He runs, and they run with him.

The Alliance cavalry pass him by, the powerful legs of their horses inches from his shoulders as they rush past him into the line of enemy soldiers. The two collapse like an earthquake in a spray of blood, screams, and equine cries as they're brought down. Dimitri is running, one foot in front of the other, faster, faster, moving a hand behind him to take the spear secured on his back and _throw_, as if he can’t live one second longer without killing something. The strike rings true, spearing one of the enemy soldiers clean through the chest and rooting itself into the ground behind him, keeping him standing in his death.

In his other hand is the Areadbhar, more like a glaive than a traditional lance and he slashes out with it as soon as he's close enough, knocking his opponents back, reaching for his spear and pressing a foot against his victim's chest to stomp down and reclaim his weapon in one smooth motion. Viscera slicks the handle and he tightens his grip on it, feeling the warmth through his glove. Good.

The scent of blood is wretched in the air and Edelgard's troops are all around them. He thinks he hears a familiar voice calling out to him but he can't hear the words above the thrum of blood in his ears, the rising sense of hideous satisfaction that takes everything away from him except for_ this_: the killing, the blood, the way each and every death at his hands is some form of blow to Edelgard herself.

Dimitri's lips part in a wolfish smile and he _laughs_, spinning and using the blade of the Areadbhar to part someone's head from their neck. It's a high, rakish sound, more monster than man as he pushes forward, deeper into the fort along with Claude's reinforcements and leaving a trail of carnage in his wake.

He catches only a brief glimpse of Claude up above, having been part of the crew that disguised himself and lead an assault to open the gates for the ground troops. Claude seems focused on the battle, but something has his attention - Dimitri follows his gaze to see a dark figure, cutting a lethal profile atop a black horse.

The Death Knight.

He stands above it all, looking down at the carnage and Dimitri feels the man’s gaze pass over him. Not one to disappoint, Dimitri takes the opportunity to shove his lance through a man’s chest, spearing him neatly and snarling at anyone else who may approach him.

Lorenz and Lysithea are leading their own battalions and are too far away to collapse into the Death Knight - they’ll have to leave him be for now, but it’s something that needs addressing shortly. Sensing a challenge as well as what he’s sure would be a crucial blow to Edelgard, Dimitri is more than happy to oblige.

He moves like he was born for this, expertly parrying enough blows to escape from the first part of this battle relatively unscathed, utilizing the additional reach of his lance and the range of his throwing spear to outmaneuver those with swords and axes as he carves a path through the main gate and deeper into the keep. He's getting a little further out now, separated from some of the other Golden Deer, but it doesn't matter - he doesn't need backup like this, and he's more likely to kill any allies who get too close to him than he is to feel grateful.

He sinks the blade of his lance into another soldier in front of him, his lip curling as he twists and watches the woman's face contort with unimaginable pain before it goes blank and she feels nothing at all. Dimitri tilts the weapon in his hand, allowing her to slip off of his blade when he hears it, a piercing scream - Hilda? - coming from somewhere behind him.

_'-Claude!'_

Dimitri immediately turns his gaze toward the sky where he sees Claude's unmistakable white wyvern losing altitude quickly, on target for a crash land onto the ground - ground that's still largely Imperial territory, as the Alliance was still working their way through the beginnings of the fortress.

He must have been shot down. Dimitri only catches a glimpse of red on an otherwise white creature and his brows knit together as he searches for the one responsible and seeing a ballistae high up on the rampart. He doesn’t see the person manning it but he sees a fist, pumped up into the air in celebration of a shot that rang true.

If Claude goes down that deep into enemy territory, he's going to die.

Dimitri realizes this in the span of a single heartbeat this and his chest goes tight, constricted with the sudden thought of losing Claude on top of everything else that's been taken from him. Claude, with his easy smiles, who had gotten down onto the ground of the cell and busied his hands with healing Dimitri's wounds, despite being the leader of an army. Claude, who had understood Dimitri's need to give penance to the dead, who hadn't criticized him or tried to pull him back - Claude, with his bright green eyes, who had begged Dimitri for patience.

Due to Dimitri's earlier reckless advances, he's the closest person to Claude by a longshot. He turns just for a moment, finding Hilda far behind him in the battle and meets her wild gaze over the frenzy of the bloodshed between them - she nods once at him in a silent agreement and that's all he needs to turn back and plunge deeper into enemy forces while she moves back in turn, calling for reinforcements to follow.

He's not killing anymore so much as he is _moving_, charging through the crowd where he'd seen Claude fall and using the lance in his hand to push people back. He can't see the other man through the Imperial bodies ahead of him but it doesn't matter - he'll reach him, he will, he won't let anyone else die.

Dimitri doesn't make it far before a sword cuts through his side, slicing thinly through the spaces between the plating in his armor and cutting deeply into him. The sudden sharpness of the pain makes him gasp, instinctively reaching into his belt to grab his dagger and bury it to the hilt in the soldier's eye before stumbling, choking on what he thinks might be blood. Keep moving. Keep moving, slower now, but he can't stop -

\- the lancing pain of the wound dissipates almost as suddenly as it had occurred in a tingling sensation that raises the hair on the back of his neck. Dimitri doesn't turn to see that Hilda had managed to rally Marianne, whose focus on him must have been precise and unbroken through the carnage, nor does he see that they've been stopped by the wall of troops that he'd managed to break through, unable to reach Claude like he can. He only uses the healing to push further inward, closer, closer - until he can see the grounded wyvern and just there, between the bodies of the enemy soldiers, a flash of yellow and dark, dark red.

Again, Dimitri takes up his spear and throws it with all his might. The blade of it erupts through the throat of the man about to execute Claude and the soldier falls forward to his knees while the others turn to raise their blades at the sudden new threat.

What follows is simply carnage. Dimitri surges, his crest pulsing power through his blood, and cuts one of the aggressors in half as cleanly as a knife through butter. The next, fast and sure, tries to move in close with a pair of daggers, too close for the lance to be of any use. Dimitri surprises him by further closing the distance between them and reaching out with his hand to wrap gauntleted fingers around his throat and _crushing_. Another. Another.

It seems like an eternity before he can finally take a moment to evaluate Claude, but in reality it's only a small handful of seconds. Once he's cleared out the surrounding area of soldiers and it's clear that the others nearby are hesitating before trying to push in, he rushes toward Claude's side, falling to his knees next to him and reaching for his shoulders to try and prop him up as he quickly evaluates the damage.

“We need to move!”

He has to practically yell to be heard over the sound of the battle raging around them. Claude is alive, that much is certain, though how long he will continue being so is a little more shaky. He’d been able to dismount before the landing it looks like, and Dimitri sees several bodies of Imperial troops around them with familiar arrows sticking out of them.

But he was surrounded and the enemy had scored enough hits on him to where Dimitri suddenly feels a tremor of fear that he hadn’t been quick enough and that Claude is a walking dead man.

There are cuts and bruises of course, but the worst of it is a deep gash which rips through his side and drenches him in blood - he must have been slashed at, and deeply enough that blood pools to the ground around him.

Dimitri realizes that they don't have time to wait for him to try and stand and hobble out of here, and so he presses his hand firmly against the widest part of Claude's wound - causing pain, but stifling blood flow.

“Put your hand here - press down. I'll get you to the healers,” he grunts over the crash of battle. The promise he makes is going to be _quite_ the feat, given that there's now half a fucking battlefield between them and the others. Dimitri can't even see Marianne through the crowd anymore and knows that they must be out of her magical range. He doesn't know how he's going to do this, but he knows that he must. He'll carry him if it comes down to that.

Claude still has enough sense to listen to him, weakly grasping at his own wound where Dimitri had instructed with one hand, his other arm moving up to Dimitri’s shoulder to try and lever himself up. He’s clearly in no shape to fight, or even to walk at all. The wyvern is nearby, lashing out at anyone who dares approach it- including, Dimitri thinks, the two of them. They’ll have to leave it if he wants to get Claude to safety.

“There,” Claude murmurs weakly against him. Dimitri follows his gaze toward one of the walls of the fort. With that at their backs, Dimitri will be able to defend the both of them until reinforcements can break through the Imperial line and Marianne can get close enough to them to use Physic and pull Claude from death’s door.

Right on cue, Raphael slams into the front of the forces. He's too far away to reach them, too far away to help, but with his fists swinging he turns the tide of battle in that direction for a few moments. Long enough for them to get to safety, maybe, except -

“I'm not sure - I can make it there.” Claude’s legs are weak, wobbling. He can barely move like this and he manages a choked laugh that might be considered rueful if not for the blood on his lips. “Sorry... ugh, how embarrassing. You mind giving me a hand? Maybe two…”

That he is at least conscious enough to speak is a good sign, even if the fact that he can't exactly walk is... well, less good. The plan to move for more cover is good, but they need to move, _now_. 

The soldiers around them are starting to realize that Dimitri's first priority is Claude and not on killing them and it's making them grow more aggressive. As much as he prefers his lance, Dimitri drops the Areadbhar near Claude's wyvern and instead picks up a sword from one of the men he's killed - easier to wield one-handed and to parry the various blows that come at him while he's trying to support his friend. He wordlessly helps Claude take one step, two, but they're not moving nearly fast enough.

Dimitri has to jostle the other man sharply in order to sidestep an axe slash coming his way, relying on his strength and footwork to keep Claude close to him while he steps forward and spears the soldier through the throat with the tip of his blade. This isn't going to work.

Dimitri remembers Claude’s earlier request and can only spare him a glance before he has to pull him out of the way of an enemy blade, wrapping his arm around Claude's waist and pulling him tightly into his chest so that he can parry the attack. He feels the impact as an arrow strikes at his back, sliding thankfully harmlessly off of his armor.

“Hold on.” Is the only warning that Claude gets before Dimitri lifts him to carry. As much as it would likely treat his wound better if Dimitri was able to get an arm under his knees and carry him that way - well, he needs the use of one of his arms to keep fighting off the seemingly-endless reinforcements who have started to realize exactly _who_ they have pinned here.

The leader of the Alliance is a tantalizing target in and of himself, but the undead prince of Faerghus with him? Anyone who could bring the two of them down, hampered as they are, would almost singlehandedly end this war and be hailed as a hero.

So, Dimitri throws Claude over his shoulder instead and moves for the wall. His swordsmanship skills aren't as good as his prowess with a lance, even when unhampered by trying to carry someone on his other arm, and he can't prevent the two of them from taking more injuries. A sword strike slices his cheek open, another blade tears into Claude's arm, he feels the heat from an enemy fireball singe at his cloak, but he keeps moving, keeps _moving_ until he's finally close enough to the wall to use it as cover.

Which is when he realizes that the battle around him had grown quiet.

It's as if all the sound around him has been drained until there's nothing left but his own breathing and the beating of his heart. The attacks from all directions have stopped - there's no soldiers around him for ten paces. The blood from Claude's wound paints his neck and runs warmly down his collarbone from where he has the other man over his shoulder. He can feel something - something achingly familiar, something that still sends a spike of fear through his heart.

The hooves of the Death Knight's horse make a metallic sound against the cobblestone as the hellish creature paws at the ground behind Dimitri. He doesn't look back, not yet - instead, he slowly lowers Claude back to the ground, propped up against the wall, and checks to make sure he's breathing.

_“The two of you together? How fortunate…”_

The hair on the back of his neck rises and Dimitri meets Claude's eyes. There's no way to communicate all that he wants to say in words, not with the time he has, and so he simply brings a hand up and touches the other man's jaw with his bloodied glove.

“Stay alive.”

And with that, he reaches down to Claude's belt to pull out his dagger and stands, turning to face the man - the creature, the _demon_ who had cornered them both.

_

When they reach the wall, Claude should probably feel relieved, but it's too soon for that. His hand is still pressed tightly against his side, as if to keep his very life force from leaking out, but it's not working that well. He's bleeding heavily, the edges of the world are going gray. He's vaguely aware that he took a few more wounds on their journey, but those are distant, minor things.

He doesn't notice the Death Knight at first. He only sees Dimitri, sees him go tense, and then behind him - that figure.

His eyes meet Dimitri's, and he feels like - he feels something. Some wrenching feeling in his chest, something he could chalk up to fear, to the adrenaline of the battle, but he knows that isn't it. He knows it's far worse than that, it's something that in his absolute foolishness he should have realized before this moment.

He wants to say _no_, to say _stop_, to find some way to end this before it begins.

_He'll kill you._

Dimitri is already injured, has already left his strongest weapon behind. Claude has nothing - no bow, no arrows, not even the strength to stand and offer Dimitri the support he deserves. He feels sickeningly helpless, because he is certain that Dimitri is about to die right in front of him, and that is unthinkable.

Claude isn't one for praying, but he sends out a silent plea to anyone who might be listening.

_Please. Not him._

_

Few people in Fódlan can truly challenge Dimitri in combat. Fewer still can hope to best him. He has trained night and day for nine years to bring justice to his name with a fervor that could only be considered _deranged_, on top of receiving the best tutelage in the Kingdom since he was barely old enough to hold a wooden sword, on top of a natural aptitude, on top of training at Garreg Mach, on top of a crest which grants him his horrific strength. All of this stacks up and amounts to the beast that he's become, this undying monster that rips its way through anyone who dares raise a weapon to him.

The Death Knight is one of those few people who remains a threat and Dimitri knows it from the start. He doesn't have his lance and he can feel the weariness of the fight and the straggling pain from the injuries he's already received start to weigh at him, all of which puts him at enough of a disadvantage that the outcome of this battle leans away from him. In turn, he's careful with his stance, mindful and precise, and prepares to fight for his - no, both of their lives.

The monster charges. Dimitri sidesteps to parry the blow, but the momentum brought with the horse as well as the massive crescent scythe that the man fights with is enough to overpower Dimitri’s strength when armed with only a standard issue sword. He staggers and is knocked off of his feet from the force of it, the air rushing out of him as he’s slammed onto his back on the ground.

He looks up and sees hooves and rolls quickly out of the way. The horse lands on his cloak, which chokes him for a moment until he can reach up and unfasten the thing, leaving it on the ground and turning to slash at the creature’s legs. With his sword busy, the scythe curves down again with enough force to behead him and Dimitri just barely ducks under it, scrambling backward so that he can find his feet again and move to stand.

He can’t meet this man blow for blow and if he uses his crest then he’s sure that the impact of the blades colliding would snap his sword in two. He’s more nimble due to being on his feet instead of on a horse, but it doesn’t amount to much when a single blow would be enough to kill him.

The only option to tilt this fight in his favor would be to kill the horse first. The Death Knight is too imposing of a figure mounted, and with the shorter range on his sword and the lack of ability to use it to pierce like a lance could, Dimitri needs to bring him down to his level.

Aside from that, every moment he stalls is another opportunity for reinforcements to arrive. At this point, that’s the only thing he’s banking on.

The Death Knight rounds on him again, expertly steering his horse for another charge. Dimitri holds his ground, wishing he could look back to Claude, to see if he’s still alive, but unable to break his focus for a single moment. He holds the sword with both of his hands, tightening his grip and waiting. Waiting.

The opening is there, just before the scythe descends on him. Dimitri pushes himself forward, summoning the power from his crest and meeting the horse’s throat with his blade.

It isn’t what his opponent is expecting. The sudden staggering of his horse makes the Death Knight pitch forward, missing his target and instead hooking his scythe around Dimitri’s shoulder where it slices cleanly through to skin. He uses it for leverage when he smoothly dismounts the dying creature and the blade cuts deeply into Dimitri at the juncture where his throat meets his shoulder, sliding downward and _pulling_ until he thinks that it’s over, he’s dead, he’s failed.

The scythe doesn’t make it that far. The angle is wrong, with the crook of it hooked over his shoulder rather than his throat. It _does_ bite down until it’s stopped by his collarbone and slices down, taking a significant chunk into his shoulder. The scythe pulls him down again with the Death Knight using the leverage to send him to his knees before he pulls it free and grasps the handle with his other hand to raise it high in order to behead the prince of Faerghus.

Dimitri still has the sword in one of his hands. If he uses it to parry the blow, it will break and he’s - he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to keep it from killing him anyway. The pain from his wound is seeping into his thoughts, making him feel sluggish and stupid, but the world is happening in slow motion around him and he’s going to die. He’s going to die without avenging anyone. He’s going to die and Claude is going to die and it’s going to be entirely his fault.

He should have known. He can never save anyone, in the end.

‘_Get up,_’ Lambert says, a disappointed snarl. ‘_Prove to me that my son isn’t weak. Prove to me that you’re worthy of my name. Get up!_’

He wants to apologize - he _is_ weak. He’s not worthy of his name. He knows this, but his father can’t seem to accept it.

The scythe comes down.

‘_Parry. Use your crest._’ 

So what if it breaks his sword? Dimitri musters his strength, calling on every fragment he might have and moves his sword up, the blade of the scythe impacting against it. It shatters, the cheaper steel giving way, but it’s enough to drive the killing blow just a few inches off, enough so that the blade slips forward and Dimitri is hit in the throat by the handle instead, just barely lacking the force to knock him to the ground.

_’Dagger.’_

Claude’s dagger. With his left hand, Dimitri pulls it from his belt. The Death Knight is too close now, and he’ll try to rip the scythe backward to cut Dimitri’s head off from behind, but Dimitri is already moving.

A scythe is a weapon best used at midrange. A dagger, close range. Dimitri moves to his feet faster than he’s ever moved in his life, seizing the only opportunity he thinks he’ll ever be granted and _moving_, all of his nerves alight as he thrusts Claude's dagger upward and into the jaw of his opponent, spearing him through the neck and driving the blade deep into his head.

The scythe does not hit him. It clatters to the ground as the Death Knight takes a reeling step back, and then another. The man - whoever he is - falls with a heavy sound that rings out in his ears. Dimitri drops the hilt of the broken sword, where it clatters uselessly, and then...

It's quiet again. The sounds of battle are gone. The voices are gone.

He's dizzy suddenly.

He's in full armor and yet he feels achingly cold. Has it always been this frigid out? His armor is heavy. His very body feels heavy. Adrenaline saps away from him and takes his energy with it and he - he has to keep going. More will collapse in on them. He has to keep fighting, but his muscles don't seem to want to work. It's not over, it can't end here, and he tips his head back, focusing his gaze on Claude behind him. Is he dead? Was he too late?

Dimitri's vision blurs as blood drips from his fingers, falling to the stone like the first hush of a rainfall. He turns finally, slowly, taking a single step back toward Claude before his feet give out under him and he stumbles... but doesn't fall.

Hilda, delicate flower that she is, barely manages to keep Dimitri upright by catching hold of his side. She wraps an arm around him, taking on most of his weight and motioning quickly for Marianne to get to Claude. They made it. They're here, he fought them off for long enough that maybe - maybe Claude could live.

Whatever happens next is out of Dimitri's hands, and while he'd ordinarily snarl and shove at anyone who dares to get close to him, now it's all he can do to slump uselessly into Hilda's side, kept from his knees only by her strong arm around his waist.

__

“Claude first,” Hilda instructs, motioning to clear the way so that Marianne can get to him. The Alliance leader’s eyes are closed, his head tipped back into the wall that he’s slumped against and for a brief moment she’s struck by a bolt of fear that they were too late and he’s already dead.

He draws a single feeble breath in and the relief that she feels is palpable, but they’re not out of the woods quite yet. Marianne’s hands start to glow as she kneels next to their leader and Hilda grits her teeth, adjusting the weight of the prince of Faerghus at her side.

Dimitri sags into her, not quite unconscious yet, but not far off. She remembers his ferocity just earlier in battle, remembers his drive to push through the enemy, remembers Claude taking her aside this morning, concern in his eyes as he’d said _keep an eye on him_.

Hilda hadn’t needed to ask who _he_ was, and she’d protested but Claude seemed so sincere in his request that she’d been forced to relent.

And now she hooks Dimitri’s arm over her shoulder as he bleeds out onto her (_gross_), her shoulders tense. Raphael and Lorenz are keeping the rest of the forces off of them while they hurry to stabilize the two men, but the enemy forces are dwindling and morale is beginning to fail now that they’ve killed the general.

“Come on,” she urges Dimitri, the first words she’s really spoken to him in years. Hilda jostles him a little with her hip - a bad move, she realizes in retrospect, as he’s moments from fainting from the blood loss. “You need to stay conscious. I’m too weak to carry you off the battlefield.”

“...I will.”

It’s not very convincing, with his head slung low and half of his weight on Hilda’s shoulder, but she supposes that it’s better than no promise at all. Her nose wrinkles as she looks at him, covered in grime and blood. He used to poke fun at her for skipping training.

The memory is painful enough that Hilda shakes it away, instead focusing on the here and now.

“What were you thinking, rushing in like that? Just like at Gronder. You must _really_ have a death wish.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond and Hilda doesn’t blame him. Realistically she knows that if he _hadn’t_ done as he did, then Claude would be dead and then where would they be? With a half-crazed former prince and a bunch of squabbling nobles and no leader to unify them.

But even so, it was a gamble. They could just as easily have both been killed in there. Hilda would love to say that _her_ self preservation instincts are better and that _she_ wouldn’t have done the same… but in her heart of hearts, she knows it isn’t true.

And maybe - maybe that means that she finds herself in a position of grudgingly respecting the half-dead man currently hanging off of her shoulder.

What a world they live in.

“He’s stable,” Marianne tells her, referring to Claude as the blue-haired woman moves to stand, blood staining her fingers, “but we need to get him off of the battlefield. Dimitri too…”

Hilda nods while Marianne moves closer to her and she can see the sweat sheen on her brow. How much magic has she used already, just to keep these two alive? She seems exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes almost reminiscent of how she used to look back at the Academy.

Marianne slowly reaches for Dimitri next. The prince snarls at the first brush of healing magic and reaches out to push her away instinctively, his palm weakly slapping against Marianne’s shoulder.

“Hey! We’re saving your _life_ here, idiot,” Hilda chastises, shaking him again. 

She glimpses something that looks like sympathy in Mariannes eyes and when Dimitri lifts his arm to try and push her away again, Marianne catches his wrist in her hand, able to hold him off easily in his weakened state.

“I know…” Marianne whispers to him, a private sort of confession that Hilda wonders if she’s supposed to be hearing. The mage slowly bends her knees so she can meet Dimitri’s gaze despite his downturned head. “I’m sorry. You just have to endure a little more.”

Hilda doesn’t know what to think of that, but Marianne is treating him like one might treat a wounded animal prone to lashing out and it’s working, Dimitri is going slack against her, his arm going limp and magic glows at Marianne’s hands once more.

There isn’t time to heal all of it and get Dimitri back on the front lines again. It’s all that Marianne can do just to keep the life threatening injuries at bay, just as she’d done for Claude. She closes the wound at his throat, her fingers expertly weaving magic through Dimitri’s skin, and looks over him for anything else that might kill him.

With Claude unconscious, Lorenz backs up toward Hilda, allowing his battalion to take the brunt of the combat for the time being.

“We’ve all but won,” he tells her and she nods. “We need to pull out and get our main forces back to camp to position ourselves and cut off any Imperial reinforcements that may be sent.”

“You think they’ll try to take it back?”

“Do you think Edelgard is the type to admit defeat?”

Hilda frowns at that, but Lorenz is undeterred. “Leonie has captured Caspar von Bergliez. Between that and the Death Knight, the forces here are ready to surrender. We can leave the rest to our footsoldiers; preparations must be made.”

He has a point. And without Claude to make them, they’ll need extra time to fully convince the nobles and other high ranking military officers of what to do.

Dimitri stirs and Lorenz looks at him, his expression contemplative but unreadable. In the end, he says nothing.

The call to pull back and circle around is made. Raphael moves to pick up Claude’s unconscious body, moving him out ahead of the rest of them while Hilda half-carries Dimitri back through the courtyard and toward the camp where the medical tent is waiting. They’re slower than the others due to her being encumbered like she is, but Lorenz was right when he said that the battle was over. No one moves to strike her in the back, no one even approaches them. 

When she looks over her shoulder, she sees a graveyard: bodies everywhere, blood streaking along the stone, the Alliance and Almyran forces piecing through the wasteland of it all, spearing through any Imperial troops that may still draw breath on the ground. There are dead horses and pegasi as well, but Hilda catches a glimpse of something white and red at the other gate.

Claude’s wyvern, haggard and injured but alive and allowing itself to be carefully lead by Marianne. Of course. Hilda fights back a smile and turns back, continuing to press forward with Dimitri in tow.

It happens when she’s near the gate, almost through, and it’s too sudden for her to react.

The sky lights up like a thunderstorm but there are no clouds. She doesn’t have the time to look behind her before it strikes and the both of them are thrown from their feet at the sudden force of light that pierces through the sky and strikes the main body Fort Merceus, exploding it into a pile of rubble, shrapnel, and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the lovely comments so far! We read and cherish each one and they help inspire us to keep writing!
> 
> This was one of my (Rae's) favorite chapters to plot out and write so I hope you guys enjoy it! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening after the battle of Fort Merceus, Claude has a visitor and some unexpected emotions to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, major spoilers for Verdant Wind from here on out, and thank you for sticking with us this long!

Claude is able to cling to consciousness only long enough to know that Dimitri is victorious, and that he is terribly wounded. The world slips away from him after that. He doesn't see the Alliance forces arrive. He doesn't see Marianne, exhausting her spellcraft to stabilize him and heal Dimitri. He doesn't see their victory, taking the fort that has been impregnable for years. He doesn’t see the destruction that follows.

He wakes in the healers' tent. Marianne's magic healed his wounds, leaving him with only silver, quickly-healing scars, but it can't restore the blood he's lost. He'll have to let his body do that, and be thankful that their next battle won't be for weeks. In the first moments after waking, he's disoriented, uncertain of where he is - it's been a long time since Claude has woken in a place like this.

Usually, he's quick enough to avoid any damage this severe. Usually, he comes away with only minor wounds.

There was nothing usual about that battle.

“We won?” It comes out scratchy, his throat dry. It's the first question he asks of the healer waiting at his bedside, though he doesn't actually need an answer. If they hadn't won, he'd be dead now, or captive, and not blissfully alive and free of chains. He's still rather lightheaded, though, so the quiet affirmative, followed by a glass of water, is appreciated.

And then all his memories of the battle come flooding back. He was barely there, at the end, and doesn't know how much of what he remembers is true. So his next question is more urgent, the answer more necessary.

“And Dimitri?”

He could have fallen. Claude saw him defeat the Death Knight, but he was injured, and the battle wasn't over yet. Claude remembers, with awful clarity, Dimitri telling him to stay alive. His hand, briefly, on Claude's jaw. Their eyes meeting.

His own belated realization.

“Where is he?”

The healer grunts and looks, long-suffering, toward the tent flap, where Dimitri's shadow is just barely visible in the fading sunlight. He is sitting on the ground like a guard dog in his bloodstained clothing, a silver lance resting lightly on his shoulders.

Everyone who wants to get in skirts very delicately around him.

His head lifts momentarily, likely at the sound of his name, but he stays outside while the healers fuss around Claude. Now that he's woken up and can give the healers responses, they’re full of questions and evaluations and medicine he doesn’t want to take. After awhile it peters out, though, and they return to their many other duties.

It's only then that Dimitri finally gets up, digging the heel of the lance into the dirt and using it to pull himself back into a standing position. He turns, and reenters the tent, his eye on Claude.

“You survived,” he says, though perhaps it's more accurate to say that they both did. Dimitri moves a little closer and the healers still inside make it a point to scurry out of his way. “Any permanent damage?”

“Only my pride. I can't say anyone's ever thrown me over their shoulder like a potato sack before - well, not since I was a kid.” Seeing Dimitri alive and - relatively - well is a relief. Claude had at least had his worries soothed by the healer's clear irritation at Dimitri's presence, but actually seeing him is miles better. He looks tired, he's still wearing bloodstained clothing, but he's alive and awake and moving around, which is more than Claude can say for himself. Even sitting upright leaves him lightheaded, and the small table beside the bed is littered with unpleasant potions for him to drink that are meant to speed his body's recovery.

He looks at Dimitri for a long moment. _Thank you_ feels flippant to say. He's not sure Dimitri will accept it, anyway, though Claude certainly feels it.

And more than that, too. Dimitri is tired, dirty, he looks like he's been through a thousand battles, but Claude has to accept with a weary inevitability that he still thinks Dimitri is handsome. That's certainly a fact that anyone would have agreed with in their school days - a perfect prince, blond hair and blue eyes, polite and chivalrous and brave. Dimitri now is wildly different, but no less attractive for it. Anyone would think so - right?

_’Anyone would think so'_, Claude thinks to himself with some humor. _Am I really that stupid?_

Claude lies to others, but he's never been the sort to lie to himself. He sets that aside for now, though.

“Hey. You saved my life.” He says it matter-of-factly, a simple fact of the reality that they now inhabit. Whatever else has passed between them, that is the truth. Claude says it aloud to make it real, to make it something that Dimitri can't ignore. He may truly believe that he is nothing but a monster made for revenge, but he did this thing. He saved Claude.

Dimitri's eye flickers downward toward the ground, not quite sure how to take it at first. “So I did.”

Silence stretches between them, and Claude doesn’t have any idea what Dimitri is thinking. Not really. He can guess, but what can he possibly know for sure? Before that battle, Claude would not have thought Dimitri would save his life - would risk his life and his vengeance for it. Maybe it was gratitude. Maybe it was nothing more than instinct. Maybe it’s something else.

Claude doesn’t know. He can’t even begin to guess. He is only thankful. 

“The rest of the Imperial forces crumbled like vermin without their leader,” Dimitri finally says. “But as we were pulling our forces back - something attacked the fort.”

Claude’s head is still heavy with weariness, his body still aches, but this forces him upright and aware. “Something?”

“Beams of light,” Dimitri says, seeming to struggle to describe what happened. “They destroyed what was left of the fort. The wounded who were on the battlefield. Anyone left.”

“How is that possible?” It’s a rhetorical question, Claude is well aware Dimitri doesn’t have the answers. Likely Hilda or one of the others will be here soon enough, now that he’s awake. Maybe they’ll know more. 

Maybe they won’t.

For a moment, Claude feels a rush of frustration, his desire to find all these mysteries and drag them screaming into the light of day almost overwhelming. He wants to get up from this bed, stride out of the tent, shake Seteth until he answers all of Claude’s questions.

This plan is immediately nipped in the bud by the knowledge that he is not, in fact, currently able to get up from the bed. Even sitting up straight makes his head spin, and he reluctantly settles back against the pillows.

As always, he will have to have patience.

How annoying.

“And our forces? You said we were pulling back.”

Dimitri nods, a firm movement. “Few of our men were left. Mostly injured enemies, but-” There's a pause, and he continues: “Caspar von Bergliez was among them. He had been captured and taken to a cell in the fort. We found his body in the wreckage afterwards.”

“I see.” Claude raises one weary arm, pushing his hair back from his face. He needs a bath - he can feel dried blood in it. Probably his own. “It’d been awhile since I'd seen him.”

He says it like it was a chance meeting, like they weren't destined to end up on opposite sides of a battlefield. Like Claude won't now be mourning this defeated enemy, this old friend from school.

They weren’t close. But this is another name he remembers, another face he used to smile at in the halls of the monastery. Gone, torn to shreds on the wheel of Edelgard’s ambitions and whatever it is that slithers in the darkness of Fódlan.

Caspar didn’t deserve this. But did any of them?

Claude sighs, tired. Really, in this moment, he can only be thankful that their forces are intact, that his friends are alive, that they both survived. That Dimitri is here. He needs to rest - he needs to really rest, to sleep without thinking about their next move, recover without worrying about the competing demands of the Alliance nobility. But that's not a reprieve he's going to get, so he takes what he can from this moment: both of them, here, alive.

And now that Dimitri has shown himself on the battlefield, his loyalists should flock to his banner. They can combine their armies, and nothing in the Empire will be able to stand against them.

The beds are nestled so neatly together that there isn't much room for chairs - there are stools off to the side of the room where healers can grab and drag over for longer procedures, but for the most part, they do their job standing. Dimitri seems weary though, and he sits on the edge of the other man's bed, careful not to jostle him.

Claude doesn't protest. He’s watching Dimitri now, too tired to dwell further on Caspar, on the Fort, on the dangers they now face.

There's a wicked-looking scar that starts at Dimitri's throat and extends its way down beneath the collar of his shirt, where the scythe had hooked him and dragged, narrowly missing his carotid - hell, narrowly missing taking his head clean off. The scar shines a bright white with magic, but there are more - other wounds that weren't as vital to heal and so, haven’t been taken care of. The cut on his cheek, a few more slashes to his arms and torso, things that it looks like he's hastily bandaged himself and then left alone.

Claude is in a similar condition, though with more tended magic. Dimitri looks over him for a moment, assessing the damage quietly now that he's a bit closer and for the second time since he woke up in Claude's cell, the ghost of a smile flickers across his face.

“I'm glad you survived.”

That draws a smile from Claude, too, a real one. Though he has friends now, more than he ever imagined, Claude is more used to people wishing he was conveniently dead than wishing for his survival. Even those who know he's necessary generally don't want to say that sort of thing aloud. He doesn't need to hear it, of course, but coming from Dimitri it... makes him happy.

It's foolish. Claude isn't really inclined to this sort of thing - he has so much to think about, so much to manage. But maybe it's all right if he lets himself enjoy a few kind words from an unexpected friend.

“It came pretty close, there. I don't mind saying I'm glad we both made it through.” As he speaks, his eyes follow the path of Dimitri's scar, realizing how close it had come. How lucky they are, really. Both of them.

Claude raises his hand, brushing his fingertips against the bandage on Dimitri's cheek. He wonders if this will be allowed, and he knows he shouldn't push Dimitri's boundaries, regardless of what unfortunate realizations he might have come to on that battlefield. It's entirely self-indulgence that lets him reach out, and he's ready to draw his hand back immediately if Dimitri is uncomfortable. “You ought to let someone take a look at these.”

Dimitri stiffens for a moment when he feels the brush of Claude's fingertips sliding gently over his bandage - it's on the side of his good eye, and so he can see the movement as it happens, but he doesn't pull away. His breath stills and for a moment Claude thinks he might get angry. Claude still remembers his reaction to the healers at the monastery.

But he doesn’t.

“It's wasted on me,” Dimitri says in protest, with disdain for those who would dare to try and help him darkening his tone. Claude knows what he must think of himself: that they don't know what kind of beast he is, they don't know what he's done, the people he's let die, they don't know that it would be better for the world to let him fall to meet the flames that await.

In truth, it's a stupid reason. The magic will replenish, it's not like he's using up an extremely limited resource - it’s just an excuse to punish himself.

Claude lets his hand fall. He doesn't want to push it the limits of what Dimitri will allow from him.

Now that he's admitted it to himself, Claude is already deciding how to handle his unwelcome emotions. He has no illusions that Dimitri would respond well to anything that Claude might voice, and he doesn't want to - well, to be brutally honest, he doesn't want to scare Dimitri away. Not from their friendship, not from their new alliance. So while he might allow himself a moment of weakness (like that touch, or the way his eyes linger just a moment too long at the spot where Dimitri's new scar disappears beneath his shirt), that's all he'll allow.

“You don't think you deserve any sort of balm.” He says it with deceptive mildness, as if he isn't just straight up calling Dimitri out, right here right now. “No small comforts, no healing, no friendship. Am I right?”

Claude doesn't expect Dimitri to like this conversation, but it's something he needs to hear. Now is as good a time as any, when they've just both nearly died.

“I would give you all of that, if only you would take it,” Claude says, eyes steady, voice steady. “I don't care what you think you deserve.”

It seems that Dimitri didn’t expect that from Claude. It’s true, ever since Dimitri had woken up in that cell, Claude had tried to be as patient and understanding as possible with him, only offering Dimitri the gentlest of challenges if he needed to nudge him in another way. 

Claude has built the solid foundation of a friendship beneath them both - a friendship strong enough that Dimitri had almost died trying to keep him alive. This isn't enough to rattle it, but it is enough to make the familiar spark of anger ignite in him and Dimitri stands suddenly, his brows drawing together. 

“I'm not -” His fingers tighten into fists, the soft touch from earlier forgotten. “For all your talk of schemes, you're a fool. If you knew half of what I'd done, you would have had me killed at Gronder. I know what I am - and you know me now as well, enough to know that you should stay your hand from me.”

Claude settles back against the pillows, letting them keep him upright. He looks at Dimitri, and he doesn't look away.

“Where I'm from, strength is valued above all else. Victory in battle. Nothing else matters nearly as much.” He says it and he smiles, a faint thing. “I never really belonged there, but it's part of me still. Perhaps that's why I don't fear you, Dimitri, and why I don't care what you've done.”

He can't keep Dimitri from storming out in anger - he can't keep Dimitri from doing anything right now, when Claude isn't even able to stand up. But he doesn't fear for his life or safety. It wasn't so long ago that Dimitri's hand was at his collar, that Claude was not sure if he would survive the next few seconds.

Maybe he is a fool, but he's already made his decision about Dimitri.

“I only care who you are now,” Claude continues, quiet and steady. “You are the man who saved my life, and nearly died doing so. That man deserves all that I can give him.”

He doesn't expect Dimitri to agree - not with any of this. But Claude wants to say it, and he believes Dimitri needs to hear it. Maybe he won't believe it, but perhaps he will remember it, and perhaps he will believe it someday.

The tension doesn’t leave Dimitri’s shoulders, but he also doesn't walk away. For a long, empty moment, he is silent, gaze on Claude.

“...Dedue said the same thing,” Dimitri finally murmurs, looking away. For all that it seems he wants to fight this and more, the memory of his friend - perhaps even his closest friend - sobers him and leaves his tone something soft, almost vulnerable. “I saved his life when I was thirteen, and he - I couldn't -”

He steels himself, forcing it back, allows the pain to bring him the familiar heat of aggression. When he looks back up, his gaze is sure, his posture set. “People around me die. I can't stop it, no matter how strong you think I am. Consider yourself lucky today that you did not meet the same fate he did, and forget the rest.”

“I consider myself lucky to have met you,” Claude says with sincerity, for all that he is weary and his voice reflects that. They could argue for hours about this, he thinks, and likely Dimitri would be happy to. He is so set on pushing away all that Claude offers, so sure that he deserves nothing. Claude knows this isn't something that can be fixed in a few moments, with a few words.

That's all right. It's not the first time that Claude has decided he's in it for the long haul. He is persistent, and he is certain, and he will try to find the right words, the right gestures, the right emotions to make Dimitri see that he does not need to damn himself forever for what has happened in the past.

“The whole army must know what you did by now. Of course, some of them are probably pissed, but I'm betting there'll be more than a few who see you as a hero, no matter how you grumble about it.” He grins. “You might not like us, but you can't stop us from liking you.”

Dimitri just stares at him, confused more than anything else. He looks at Claude as if Claude is, in and of himself, a surprise - constantly throwing him off balance, refusing to let him settle into his familiar patterns of anger and self-hatred.

He can't stand there and gape at Claude forever, though, and so eventually he lets out a growl of frustration, crossing his arms in front of himself - with a wince - and glaring.

Of course, Claude is immune to his glares by now.

“Fine,” he says, almost aggressively. “You're a damn fool, but if you truly won't let the matter go, I'll do as you insist.” Dimitri moves to sit on a nearby bed, turning his murderous gaze on a nearby healer, one who has been trying very hard not to obviously eavesdrop on their conversation. “You. Come here.” 

The healer looks as though he fears any approach will end with his head bitten off, and not metaphorically. But he walks over to them, presenting himself as at their lords' service, ready to heal all of Dimitri's small injuries. There are many, but it won't take that long - most of them are not terribly serious.

Claude doesn't gloat. He isn't really that sort of person. Instead he's simply pleased, pleased that Dimitri has allowed himself to be cared for even if it's only because Claude badgered him into it. It's something, a first step, a small step. Claude will gladly badger him into it each time, if that's what it takes.

He watches the healer work, and he feels a wave of weariness wash over him. He should rest, probably, but not until he knows that Dimitri has been taken care of. Dimitri waited outside his tent while he recovered, is here now, and before that - before that, he'd put his life on the line for Claude's.

It's not something Claude can say about many people.

“Thank you.” He knows Dimitri only did it because Claude forced him into it, and so - gratitude. “Though the scars do look dashing.” 

...gratitude, with a topping of his familiar flippant nature. Although, in this case, he's only speaking truth.

Dimitri stares toward Claude quizzically from over the healer's head while the man gingerly pokes and prods at his various injuries. “...I see,” he says, clearly having no idea what to do with that comment. “I doubt many would agree with you.”

Claude's teasing smile slides into something a little more gentle. Of course Dimitri wouldn't be used to compliments, wouldn't agree with them. Claude already knows he only sees the worst aspects of himself. And yes - he can be frightening, he can easily intimidate. He's scarred and damaged, prone to scowls and snarls.

But he's a lot more than that. Claude doubts he's the only one who would be able to see that.

“You might be surprised.”

He considers how honest to be. Not about himself, of course - that's not something to entertain - but about the world in general, the way people react to Dimitri. Most of the girls at the Academy had crushes on him, and no few of the boys. He's different now, yes, darker and more dangerous, but if he really thinks that doesn't increase the appeal for some people... well, Claude supposes Dimitri hasn't really had a chance to learn that sort of thing, with all he's been through.

“I think you're going to end up with your share of admirers, Dimitri,” he says, settling on something both truthful and safe.

Though Claude doesn't think Dimitri is quite in a place to appreciate that right now, he's sure it'll come. And that's something Dimitri deserves, too. Regardless of Claude's rather foolish and unexpected feelings, he wants Dimitri to find someone who will understand him, and someone who he can care for in return.

Dimitri scoffs out a laugh, and it leaves his mouth before he can really stop himself. “As if that's something I'd concern myself with.”

The healer continues his work and, much to Dimitri's irritation, reaches tentatively up to lift the bandage from his cheek. The touch is different, cruder than it was when Claude had touched him and Dimitri draws his head back sharply, glaring at the man with an intensity that could melt steel. The healer pauses, rooted to the spot, before Dimitri relents again, staring off toward the fabric wall of the tent while the tickling magic knits his cheek back together.

Claude can practically _see_ Dimitri deciding that this sort of conversation has gone on long enough, and choosing to change the subject to something that he's more comfortable with.

“You should get better at fighting at close range,” is what Dimitri decides on, in the end.

Claude lets Dimitri change the subject. That one was getting a little too close to home, anyway. Someday maybe Dimitri will change his mind - or he'll complete his revenge and realize he's got to start thinking of his future, which should probably include some kind of royal consort. Claude isn't really in a rush for that part to happen.

“Ideally, I'm on a wyvern's back up in the air somewhere,” Claude says. “Close range isn't really something I end up having to deal with that often.”

This was - well, an outlier. And his bow works well enough, and he's got a dagger (well, he did, he's probably not getting that one back). Back at the academy he practiced with an axe from time to time, but he never really invested the time to become skilled. He had a lot of other things to worry about.

That part is still true.

“But yeah, you're probably right. I'll try to find time, and someone to train me.” Someone he can trust. Hilda? No, she loathes doing any kind of extra work. Lorenz would never let him live it down. Leonie, maybe, for all that she'll scoff at him.

He doesn't know if having a close-range weapon on him would have saved him in that fight - in the end, it might all have been down to Dimitri's bravery. But it certainly wouldn't have hurt, and Claude's never been one to shy from extra work if he thinks it's necessary.

“I will.” Dimitri offers it easily, as if he's already considered it. Perhaps, Claude thinks, he has. Or perhaps it’s only a whim. “Maybe you can show me how to better use a bow in return.”

The healer finally finishes his work and steps away, relieved that Dimitri had been at least somewhat distracted throughout his tending and had kept most of his attention on Claude. He brings back a small cup with some sort of potion in it and offers it hesitantly toward Dimitri who takes it without another glance, holding it between his fingers with a thoughtful frown. 

“Gladly,” Claude says. He likes the idea of teaching Dimitri something in return - and he's awfully pleased that Dimitri offered to teach him, even if it was just a whim. Claude hadn't really considered it, because Dimitri doesn't exactly seem to have the temperament of a teacher. Claude wouldn't have thought he would want to do something like that. But he's happy to accept, pleased that Dimitri thought to offer it.

When he's interested in something, Claude is a good student - diligent, curious, and a fast learner. He isn't exactly interested in this, there's a reason he's never bothered to devote much time to it before, but it would be helpful, and if Dimitri is the one teaching him he imagines he'll be more inclined to pay attention.

Claude has another - possibly better - idea. “Or I could teach you to ride a wyvern.”

Another skill that would be basically useless to Dimitri, whose fighting style is far more effective up close - but there's something to be said for riding a wyvern in times of peace, too. Maybe Dimitri would like it. Maybe, up in the sky, he'd be able to forget about what was weighing him down for a little while.

But the thought of that draws Claude's expression into lines of concern.

“Do you know what happened to mine?” he asks. “Is he... all right?”

The wyvern was alive when Claude last saw him, albeit angry and injured. But Claude missed the entire end of battle thanks to blood loss-induced unconsciousness, and he hasn't been able to leave the healers' tent since. He knows if the wyvern is alive, it's probably been tended to, but - he hasn't had anyone to ask.

Dimitri nods once. “I went near the stables when I was out earlier. I saw it - not closely, but enough to see that it was moving. That's all I know.”

“Good.” Claude relaxes a little. The first thing he's going to do when he feels well enough to walk around is check on the wyvern. They're tough creatures, so if it was able to get back here and is now moving around, it'll probably be fine, but Claude wants to make sure, anyway. Besides, his wyvern isn't terribly fond of other people - he'll have to make sure it lets the healers close enough.

He just hopes there's no permanent injury. Claude can ride other wyverns, of course, but he'd prefer not to.

“I've never seen a wyvern that color before,” Dimitri admits offhandedly. Not a surprise, really. The wyverns in Faerghus are a brownish-black color, darker than the southern ones but not nearly as stark of a difference as Claude's own.

“They don't come out that color often, I guess,” Claude says. Even in Almyra, where wyvern riders are common, a pure white hide like that is something Claude's rarely seen. “He was cast out for it - I think they usually are. Animals don't always know what to do with difference, though really, people are no better.”

He didn't hand-raise the wyvern - that would have been impossible, for so many reasons - but Claude likes to think that they're kindred spirits. That maybe they both knew that immediately, and that's why they get along so well. But of course, wyverns are animals, so he's probably just amusing himself by thinking that.

“I'll take you to meet him when I'm upright again.”

“If you like,” Dimitri says. He finally drinks the potion that had been offered to him, downing it in one large gulp and wincing at the bitter taste. Were he a more petty man, he'd likely have glared at Claude for that, as if to tell him _this is your fault_ \- but in the end, he simply sets the glass on the table and lets out a pained exhale through his teeth. “You should rest. I'll leave you be.”

“I should,” Claude agrees, albeit reluctantly. He is tired, and he needs to rest or else it'll take even longer before he's in good enough shape to get up and walk around and do everything that needs to be done - and the things that don't need to be done, like check on his wyvern and train with Dimitri.

But, of course, he finds himself oddly reluctant to send Dimitri away. 'Oddly', hah, as if he doesn't know why, and that's all the more reason to send him away. Claude's already in trouble, he doesn't need to make it worse by making Dimitri uncomfortable and setting back his own recovery.

“But - hey, I'm glad you came by,” he says, as if Dimitri hadn't been waiting outside the tent, as if Dimitri didn't seem to be just waiting for a moment to check on him. But Claude thinks that's normal - Dimitri has few friends, and Claude likes to think he's one of them. Besides, it was his life Dimitri nearly died for out there. Perhaps 'friendship' isn't the right term for what's between them, though Claude isn't sure what is. “I'll be up and about in a few days, mark my words.”

“I don't doubt it.” Dimitri moves to stand. He nods toward the other man once, meeting his eyes and for a split second, Claude thinks about the last time Dimitri looked at him like that. If things were different, only slightly, then the two of them would be dead now.

It's a heavy thing to think about.

Dimitri turns and leaves then, picking up his lance on the way out and moving out into the darkness of the early evening. Claude watches him go, letting his eyes and thoughts linger for longer than he ought to.

There’s so much else to think about, and he’s so tired. 

Not long after Dimitri leaves, Hilda slips in through the flap of the healers’ tent. She looks tired, too, though from what Claude can see she received only minor injuries. Good. He’s had enough bad news already.

“Hey,” she says easily, taking a seat on the end of his bed with no hesitation. She is casual and friendly with him in a way Dimitri isn’t - but Hilda is casual and friendly with most people, and she and Claude have had years to come to understand one another. It’s a relief just having her there. “Lorenz and I have been taking care of what we can. Things are kind of in disarray - Lorenz told me to come give you a full report, but,” she shrugs, “you know he’s gonna come give you another one anyway. So I’ll skip that.”

Claude smiles. He knows it won’t be long before he has to face all the questions, all the problems, all the thorny difficulties that the leader of the Alliance must untangle. Having a tiny bit of extra time to just _be_ is the gift Hilda is giving him.

Fort Merceus, the destruction, the deaths, where to go from here - Claude will need to decide all of it. But right now he’s so tired, emotionally and physically and mentally exhausted, Dimitri’s visit a balm and another thorny difficulty all in one. Though in this case Claude is doing it to himself.

“Maybe I’ll just start telling them to come to you for all their decisions,” Claude says, and Hilda makes a horrified face.

“I _will_ abandon this army,” she says, and smacks Claude’s leg lightly. “I can’t believe you almost died and left this whole mess to me.”

“You mean, you can’t believe I almost died and left this whole mess for you to dump on Lorenz,” Claude says. He is expecting Hilda to smile, or even to laugh, and she does - but only for a moment before her eyes turn serious.

“I can’t believe you almost died,” she says, and this time she isn’t teasing.

“I’m alive,” Claude says, his voice gentler now. He has always tried so hard to survive, but mostly for his own sake. Over his life, there have been enough people that wanted him dead that survival felt like a protest, felt almost like a spiteful thing. _See? You can’t kill me, no matter how many assassins you send._ But now he thinks, he could have died. He could have left people behind who missed him.

Hilda. Marianne. All of his Golden Deer. Judith, even.

Dimitri.

It’s almost as if Hilda knows where his thoughts have traveled - and maybe she does. She plays harmless, but she’s about as observant as Claude, and she’s always been able to see through him the way so few others have.

“I really thought you were losing it, taking him in and letting him fight like that. He barely spoke to any of us, he was - like an animal, I guess. I didn’t think he cared about any of this, just killing.” Hilda looks at him, not smiling. “But he saved you.”

Claude can’t quite look at her. He’s afraid that she’s seeing too much, and so he looks at his hands instead, and only belatedly realizes that’s a tactical error. Now she’ll _definitely_ know something’s up. He’s too tired to beat Hilda at this game right now. 

“He’d probably agree with you, you know. He doesn’t think much of himself. But Dimitri isn’t a monster, he’s just - lost.” Claude meets her eyes. There’s no point in dissembling. “He’s still a good man, underneath all of that. He’ll make a good king.”

Hilda sighs. “Oh, Claude.” She doesn’t seem surprised by Claude’s admission that he intends to give the throne to Dimitri. “_Him?_”

“He was raised to be a king -”

“Not that,” Hilda cuts him off, and she crosses her arms, looking down at him in the healers’ bed with something that seems like resigned amusement. “You. And Dimitri.”

Claude realizes immediately what she’s saying, and he wants to protest, except - well. She would see through him. She already has.

“You know there are attractive people out there who you didn’t lock in jail cells, right? Who have probably bathed more than once in the past five years? Who don’t growl and snarl like they’d be happy to bite you in half?” Hilda is judging him. Luckily, Claude is used to it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “But I like _this_ one.”

Hilda laughs, and he has to laugh too, because he knows it’s ridiculous, he knows it’s foolish of him, but while Claude may be intelligent and capable of commanding armies, he seems to run into trouble when it comes to command over his own heart.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t think he’s even considered the possibility, and I won’t let it become a problem.”

“I’ll worry if I want to,” Hilda says, and she pats his leg. “This time I’m worried about your terrible taste.”

“That’s fair,” Claude says, and then he hears voices outside the tent. Familiar ones - some of the Alliance nobles. Goddess, he’s too tired for this.

Hilda reads it on his face, and she stands. “Get some rest, I’ll run interference. They don’t actually need you right now, they just need someone to listen to them complain.” She rolls her eyes. “You better remember I’m doing this for you, Claude. You’re gonna owe me big.”

“I already do,” Claude says, and she grins at him before leaving. He watches Hilda disappear through the tent flap, and he lets his weary eyes close, and he tries not to think about anything except sleep.

Eventually, it works.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While helping Claude back on his feet, Dimitri receives a letter from Faerghus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some minor spoilers from Azure Moon about Dimitri's backstory in this chapter!

Claude is still recovering.

They've delayed their departure back to Garreg Mach due to the various injuries sustained at Fort Merceus, something that is both a blessing and a curse. The men need time to recover, Claude needs time to recover, but every day that they stay here is another day that they delay moving on Enbarr.

It's close now. So close he can _feel_ it in an electric hum through his teeth, a whisper in the back of his mind that starts at night and grows louder, louder. The waiting would be unbearable except that there are things that must be done around camp and to be quite honest, Dimitri himself hasn't made a full recovery yet either. But still, if the armies could leave tonight, he would go, and the knowledge that they _aren’t_ makes him tense and irritable. It's so close, close enough to almost touch it... and yet, still out of his grasp. He knows that Claude is sympathetic but he also knows that Claude is trying to run the Alliance from a hospital bed and that his sympathies only extend far enough for him to beg for more patience.

Dimitri is through with patience. Edelgard is waiting for him at Enbarr.

But they don't go, not yet, and so eventually Dimitri swallows his desire for isolation and starts to help. The wreckage of the fort needs to be scavenged through, bodies - starting to decompose now in the warm southern sun - need to be set into the mass grave, weapons need to be cataloged, losses need to be counted up and detailed in reports. He can't help with all of it, but when he can lend a hand and be generally unnoticed in doing so, he does.

Claude is out of bed late into the second day and Dimitri is there for it. Of course he's there for it - what time he hasn't spent sulking alone or sneaking in help where he can, he's been lurking along the edge of the hospital tent, ensuring Claude's safety, his recovery, and... well, just talking to him. Claude is the only person he really talks to around here.

So, when Claude gets up on shaky legs like a newborn foal, Dimitri is there. He doesn't offer an arm to him, not unless Claude asks for it, but he's there nevertheless, watching as his friend takes the first few steps since the Alliance’s attack.

“The men are making preparations to move out,” he reports, though surely Claude has people giving him updates every moment of the day. Dimitri just likes talking to him about this sort of thing. It makes him feel useful and Claude always seems to have an interesting perspective on matters.

“The wreckage of the fort is thorough. There’s nothing left for us here but to move on.”

Claude seems uneasy, but he doesn’t reach for Dimitri’s arm. Whether it’s pride or his own concern at looking weak to his potential enemies, Dimitri doesn’t know, but he seems unsteady enough that Dimitri still stays close by.

“You're not wrong,” Claude says with a sigh, “I was hoping there would be something to find from the wreckage, but…”

But there’s nothing, Dimitri knows. No surviving prisoners to interrogate, no secrets in the catacombs, no letters or books that they might have been able to pilfer. Not even any evidence of what kind of weapon had been used to cause such destruction. Of course Claude would hope that there’d be some kind of information, anything he could use - but with a weary inevitability, they must admit that the beams of light had eliminated anything that they may have learned from their victory.

Sensing the end of this disappointing conversation, Claude says, “Anyway, I'm not up for much more than a short walk. Will you come to the stables with me?”

Dimitri isn’t surprised at the request. Of course Claude would want to check on his wyvern after seeming so concerned for it during their earlier conversation. Without thinking, he extends an arm to help Claude make the trip, but the other man shakes his head.

“No. I’ll be fine.” But he doesn’t sound entirely sincere. Claude’s brow furrows, and he rectifies a moment later: “Just... don’t wander too far.”

But he makes his way out of the tent regardless, blinking in the brightness of the sun. And with that, the two of them walk to the stables. They go slow so that Claude can be sure of each step, but true to his word, Claude doesn’t ask Dimitri for support. Instead, he seems to make each step deliberate, looking around as if he is trying to give the impression of surveying the camp instead of carefully ensuring the surety of his step.

On the way to the stables, Dimitri doesn’t speak or try to drum up a conversation, which seems to not sit well with Claude, so after a few moments, he asks, “I know it's only been a few days, but have you heard from any of your men?”

The question makes Dimitri frown, glancing away.

“I haven't.”

Still, it's almost too early to expect anything. They're on the opposite side of Fódlan from his Kingdom, and even if they've gotten word by now (unlikely, but not impossible) and even if they've mobilized and sent word ahead (even more unlikely) he doubts that a message would have made it in this narrow amount of time, at least not one that would have been sent without the utmost urgency. Dimitri suspects that they'll hear something within the week, but he's not disappointed to have not heard anything yet.

He's not sure if he'd be disappointed if he _never_ hears anything, truly. He hadn't treated his former companions well in the short time he'd known them again and the idea of all of them rejoining once more, looking to him for leadership, expecting him to take direction... it's exhausting just to think about.

Despite himself, Dimitri thinks about the prison cell. About how things were simpler then, and about how strange and foolish he is for thinking of it in such terms. These past few weeks with Claude have been good for him, he doesn't need an onlooker to tell him that, and part of him is at loathe to accept more responsibilities that take him away from this... whatever he's been doing.

A large part of him doesn't think that he's earned it. He hadn't earned it last time and he's done nothing since to deserve his countrymen's devotion. The kind of guilt that they give him just by asking for commands is... hard.

It's not a matter of _whether_ he's ready for it, though, he knows that. He has to be ready. The circumstances give him no other choice.

“If they were to come to our aid, they would leave the Eastern lands open for the Imperialist dogs to press in. Then the entire Kingdom would be hers." Dimitri spits it out, feeling the familiar, comforting rage spark and then fade. They're close. They're _so _close. “We cannot expect a large number, if we expect anything at all.”

“Anything will help.”

Claude murmurs in that inscrutable way of his. They turn into the stables, large and varied given the different mounts of the army. Past the horses, before the pegasi - Claude slows down even more, approaching the white wyvern. It's sleeping, or it seems to be, but when it catches his scent it raises its head.

It's hard to read the emotions of a creature like a wyvern, but it lets out a low, whining rumble, and leans out of its enclosure to press its head close to Claude and huff, breathing in his scent. It eyes Dimitri with a little more wariness, but it's more than clear that it is glad to see Claude.

“Hey, there you are,” Claude says, speaking to it softly, like a beloved pet, resting his hand on its snout. “I'm so glad you're all right. Come meet my friend - Dimitri, this is Hyacinth. Hyacinth, Dimitri.”

Claude has named this beast after a flower. Dimitri frowns.

He has had horses in his life - several, in fact, some of whom were his own personal steeds - but he'd never grown attached to them. Horses were smart and loyal, but not so much as another human, and others had mostly taken care of them so Dimitri had never come to see them as a pet or companion.

Wyverns are... different, in a sense. Dimitri has always thought them smarter than they were given credit for and fiercer than any other kind of mount. They cut an imposing figure in the sky and Dimitri thinks that if he were someone else with some sort of other training, then he'd have liked to know what it was like to have one at his command.

But he isn't and he understands that. Still, Claude's familiarity with Hyacinth makes him think about what it might be like.

He doesn't react at first to the introduction, warily watching Claude pat at the creature's snout. He'd stopped riding horses after the one he'd used to escape from Faerghus had bolted from him, and in the back of his mind something whispers that the animals can _smell_ the blood and rot from him and are skittish because of it.

“He isn't injured?” He asks carefully, keeping himself a few paces away.

The wyvern definitely doesn’t seem _skittish_. Maybe it's the fact that he is a large predator - even if he recognizes Dimitri as one also, he'd see him as competition rather than a threat. The creature doesn't seem to be paying much attention to Dimitri anyway and focuses on Claude instead, but now and then his narrowed eyes will flicker to the man standing near his master. Keeping an eye on him.

Claude looks Hyacinth over, getting as close as he can without climbing into the enclosure. Even if he manages to fall in somehow, Dimitri doubts he’d be able to get out again.

“His wing's been healed,” Claude explains, “he'll have to keep off it for a few weeks - he'll probably be grouchy, he hates getting grounded. But I think he'll be ready for our next battle.”

Dimitri nods in response. Good. It will be their most important one yet, and to have Claude unmounted or even on a wyvern he knows less well would be a detriment. He's a capable enough rider that it would have been mostly fine, but it’s it's entirely possible that the battle will rest on such small things.

Claude seems to realize that Dimitri is keeping his distance, and he sizes up the two of them - man and wyvern.

“You can come closer. He won't bite.”

Dimitri eyes Claude for a moment as if trying to guess just how confident he is that the wyvern will stay calm - it would be a sorry moment if he were to have a hand mangled before they march - but after a few seconds he nods, slowly tugging at the fingers of his glove on his right hand, never breaking eye contact with the beast.

When the glove is off he takes a cautious step forward, his hand partially raised for Hyacinth to inspect and perhaps to sniff at, if he's so inclined. Dimitri holds it there, still and quiet, his eye never leaving the creature before him.

“You remember me,” he murmurs toward the wyvern, though it's not likely to be a pleasant memory: Dimitri showing up at a time of pain, hauling its master up and carrying him off to leave the beast for dead. He considers that too late and frowns slightly at the thought. When he speaks next, it's addressing Claude.

“He fought well back there. A lesser beast would have been easily killed.”

The wyvern deigns to stretch its neck and sniff at Dimitri's fingers, after a moment. It still eyes him as if it doesn't trust him, but it doesn't make and move to snap at him. Claude places one hand on Hyacinth's neck, pleased.

“He's fierce. He had to be, to survive on his own.”

Claude watches the two of them as Hyacinth takes a breath and huffs it over Dimitri - harmless, only enough to blow his hair back, but wyvern breath is not at all pleasant. It's about the least dangerous type of disapproval the wyvern could show, so that's… something.

“Hey, now. I said this is my friend, right? Be nice.” Claude chastises, before looking at Dimitri, apologetic. “Next time I'll bring some treats for you to give him.”

Dimitri's nose wrinkles and he finally looks away, slightly repulsed at the stench. He doesn't meet Claude's eyes, instead drawing his hand back in a moment of... well, he's not sure if it's frustration that he'd been refused or the letdown of being _right_ about these types of creatures not liking him, but whatever it is, he's not going to push the issue.

“Unnecessary.” 

He doesn't need to be friends with Claude's wyvern, just like he doesn't need to be friends with any of the other Golden Deer or anyone else in Claude's army, for that matter. Dimitri busies himself with putting his glove back on, every bit as petulant as the creature before him. They could almost be mirrors of one another, but Dimitri doesn't seem to notice.

“That's enough. I'll-”

_“-my lord, your highness!”_

The sudden shrill noise has Dimitri looking upward sharply, turning to see the threat fully with his good eye. It's a woman - a short one at that - dressed in the light riding leathers that a pegasus knight might take, wearing no discernible colors, but with a bag at her hip that she digs through as she approaches.

She brandishes a letter finally, and Dimitri glances away, taking a step back so that Claude can deal with whatever business she brings him. Instead, she offers the Alliance leader a short bow on her way straight to Dimitri's side, where she bows again, deeper this time, with seemingly far more respect, and presents him with a piece of parchment, sealed with the unmistakable Fraldarius crest.

“I am from the Galatea Pegasus Company,” she starts, breathless as if she's been running, “Here at the behest of Duke Fraldarius.”

She waits for a reaction or for him to even take the letter but he doesn't, not quite yet. The woman doesn't look up quite yet from her bowed position, or she might see Dimitri staring down at her in a mixture of surprise and... well, and something else. 

It takes him a long while to react to this unexpected messenger. With her small size and lean build, he wouldn't be surprised if she was the fastest in the entire fleet. She'd have had to be, to travel so far in such a short amount of time.

Finally, he takes the parchment - reluctant, uneasy, but he has little other choice. Dimitri glances toward Claude over her head and has the sudden feeling that whatever is in that letter will mean the end of this time that they share together.

“It seems you were right to expect word so soon.”

Claude watches this scene silently, polite as ever when she moves past him, but thoughtful. Dimitri doesn’t want to know what might be going through his mind save for perhaps the satisfaction of being correct about getting word so early.

“It's a bit of a surprise, I must admit,” he says to Dimitri’s hesitation, before gesturing towards the letter. “You ought to open it.”

He smiles then and Dimitri doesn’t have the stamina to try and decipher what that particular smile might mean for him.

“...yes.”

The woman straightens and stares at the ground, present until dismissed, while Dimitri breaks the seal with a gloved hand and slowly unfolds the letter. He scans over the contents first, his lips pressed in a thin line but his face otherwise unreadable as he goes back over it a second and then a third time.

Whatever news is inside has an odd effect on him. Dimitri straightens his back slightly, taking in a deep breath and setting his shoulders back. Just the slight shift in posture makes him look... more regal, more like the prince he'd been five years ago and less like the beast that found itself locked in Claude's prison cell earlier this month.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft.

“...they're abandoning the Kingdom.”

They hadn't wanted to before, even when Dimitri had demanded all available men leave Faerghus to march to Enbarr. _They're your people_, they'd told him, but he hadn't listened then and he'd taken everything they'd been willing to give and then dashed it onto the rocks at Gronder Field. Why would they do such a thing now?

“The Duke and Margrave are surrendering their territories and riding South. All loyalist forces are…” His brows furrow, but his voice is incredulous and soft. “They're going to Garreg Mach.”

He scans the words again, as if there's some hidden message that he should be uncovering, something that he’s missing. The words _Death Knight, Alliance, proud of you _\- they all jump out at him but none of them seem to make much sense to him anymore. He feels suddenly, like he's on the precipice of a cliffside where even the softest brush of wind could send him spiraling down into the depths.

The Kingdom is Imperial territory now, is what this letter means. He has men - thousands of men - traveling to fight and die at his side. He's murdered countless others, women, children, his hands are stained red and he's failed so _many_ people and...

He takes a breath, and then another, too fast. He never thought himself one for anxiety but his thoughts are racing now with the ramifications of Rodrigue's words and the responsibility that suddenly weighs on his shoulders, heavier than anything he's ever had to carry. They _must_ win - if there was no choice before, there's even less of one now, with an entire nation hanging in the balance of everything he does.

Claude, to his credit, listens to Dimitri’s words silently, but the smile has faded from his face in favor of an expression that is far more calculating. With Dimitri indisposed, Claude has the presence of mind to turn to the messenger with a nod.

“Go, and find food and take your rest. You are welcome here.” His words are a kind but firm dismissal. Dimitri barely notices as she takes her leave. 

He's thinking about the letter and all that it entails and what they're both going to have to do from now on. Rodrigue had correctly assumed that Dimitri's alliance with Claude was a mutual one, presumably leaning back on the older man's desire to ally with him back at Gronder, a desire that Dimitri had ignored in his bloodlust. With that assumption, the Duke has sent troops to Garreg Mach to bolster Dimitri's forces and to help Claude... and, Dimitri supposes bitterly, if Claude _had_ been holding him hostage, then the Kingdom troops would be utilized to break Dimitri free of whatever chains the Alliance leader kept him in.

It works out neatly that way, ties up loose ends and prevents them from losing more men just from digging their heels in while the Empire lays waste to the Kingdom. If he's thinking things through, it's a tactical move and one that only hinges around him due to his status as a figurehead.

Goddess, it always comes down to bloodlines, doesn't it? If he were a peasant, nobody would raise armies for him. Nobody would expect him to lead, nobody would take him captive instead of simply killing him. Dimitri feels very suddenly, and not for the first time, as if he has been thrust into a life that he will never be able to deserve, no matter how hard he works and how much he does. Maybe - maybe there was a chance for the boy he was to have earned this kind of loyalty, but now…

There’s a hand on his arm suddenly, a warmth that draws him out of his thoughts and back into the present. Bright green eyes watching him.

“Look at me.” Claude's voice is quiet but sincere, as if he’s already thought of this and rehearsed what he wanted to say. He carries the weight of leadership as well and he knows, he must know how it weighs on him. ”They believe that this is the best chance they have - that you are the best choice they have. And I agree with them. You are a king, Dimitri. You always have been.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond for a moment. His eye is dull, gazing faraway, but the contact of Claude touching him has been unexpected enough that it, coupled with the gentle demand of attention, manages to pull him back to the present, lifting his chin to look directly at Claude's insistent expression.

“...I don't deserve this.” His voice is soft and thin - trusting, like his vulnerability is a very fragile gift he's offering to the other man and one slight misstep will break it.

It might be easier to see it Claude's way: that Dimitri is the best card that Rodrigue can play from a bad hand. In killing the Death Knight, he's become something of a topic of conversation around the camp and he'd be a fool to ignore how people are beginning to look at him differently. What was once revulsion and apprehension seems to now blend into respect and maybe an odd degree of admiration. He doesn't deserve that either.

Dimitri takes in a ragged breath and looks away, his eye sinking shut.

“I never asked for it.”

Claude reaches up, presses his fingers to Dimitri's jaw, turning his face to look at Claude again. It’s a sure movement, unlike the more hesitant touches of the past, and Dimitri doesn’t resist it - why would he?

He's forced to look back at Claude and so he chokes down the rest of his emotions and does, trying to school a look on his face that's less _open_, so he can look at the other man without breaking down.

“None of us asked for it. We were born into this and given this responsibility we may not deserve. But since we haven't yet changed the world, it's what we have to live with. We have to do the best we can.”

For a long moment, Claude is silent, considering - but when he speaks again, he takes a deep breath, his voice lighter, giving more away than he might mean to.

“You were always told you deserved this, right? You were born to this. I was born to this, too, but I always knew no one thought I deserved it. But that's what other people thought of us. That's their biases, their blind spots. It doesn't matter whether either of us deserves it. This power is something that we have, something that was given to us. And because we have it, we end up having to use it.”

Claude smiles, and if it's not quite genuine, it’s close enough to it that Dimitri has to believe in his optimism, if nothing else.

“We can't change that. But I know you, Dimitri. They're not wrong to believe in you.”

For so long, Dimitri has felt nothing but rage - rage, built on a foundation of immense guilt, as deep and vast as an ocean inside of him. He's drowned himself in it until it collected in his lungs, reminding him with every breath what he's done, who he's let die, what's he's allowed to be taken. It's a poison as potent as any of the small things that Claude used to cook up and it's been eating him from the inside out for nine _years_ until he's hollow and vast and so, so empty.

In that moment, Dimitri wishes that the two of them could have traded births. That Claude could have been the one born into a monarchy here, that he could have taken the reins of power and used them thoughtfully, carefully, and without feeling this way. Claude deserves this more than him, he's better at this than him, and the fact that he's had detractors and people in his life telling him otherwise makes Dimitri's blood boil in an entirely new way. Claude wouldn't have given into the emptiness like this, he thinks, Claude wouldn't have become a beast.

It doesn't occur to him in the moment how much of an admission that had been for Claude, that this is the most he's learned about his struggles in the entire time he's known him. All he feels is an aching dread, a crushing burden, and Claude's warm fingers pressed against his cheek as his only lifeline.

Dimitri slides forward then, slipping his arms underneath Claude's own and embracing him. It's an action that he doesn't think much about, he just does it because he needs the comfort, and Claude is warm and sturdy and has already given him so _much_ but Dimitri makes him give even more with a face buried in his shoulder, his breath hot and hitching faintly against Claude's throat.

Claude freezes for a moment in an uncharacteristic pause that signifies that whatever Dimitri has done has thrown him off balance. And for someone like Claude, who makes it a point to never be thrown off balance, this feels… significant.

Dimitri knows he's overstepped as soon as it happens - he doesn't know how badly, but he knows that it wasn't expected and that he probably should have given some kind of warning. But what would have sufficed? Any hesitation and he wouldn't have done it at all, he'd have pulled back and forced out some sort of gruff response and tried to piece together how to lead an army on his own.

Still, when the moment is passed, Claude moves to wrap his arms around Dimitri, holding on to him, one hand on his back and the other tangled into his hair. He murmurs something nonsensical, something like _it will be all right_ or _you can do this_. He doesn't let go.

What's done is done, and Claude is returning the embrace at least. It's stiff, but it's not like Dimitri is complaining, being the one who threw himself into him in the first place. Claude isn't shoving him off and the fingers in his hair feel... nice, being close enough to hear Claude whispering in his ear feels nice. It's been ages since he's been this close to someone. Probably Rodrigue, before the Academy but he'd dismissed it then, having been already on his path to uncovering the truth about the Tragedy.

But all things must come to an end and he doesn't want to overstay his welcome in Claude's arms, so Dimitri pulls back after a few fraught moments, feeling... rather awkward, if he's being honest. He avoids eye contact, taking a step away and flushing faintly as if only just now realizing what he's done and how weak he'd looked.

“...apologies. I shouldn't have -”

Well, they both know what he did. Dimitri takes in a deep breath and stares toward Claude's wyvern, a silent witness to this whole affair, and fights back a small wave of jealousy at the beast for not needing to be in this position.

In the end though, he pulls himself together as well as he can. He wants to be a peasant instead of a prince. He wants to ride to Enbarr and clear his mind of everything except his desire for Edelgard's head.

He wants to be Claude’s prisoner again.

“You've been a good friend to me,” he finally says, finding his resolve and clinging to it like a man lost at sea, “I haven't earned your generosity, but one day I hope to repay you.”

Claude smiles, letting Dimitri break the hug without any protest.

“I'm not doing this to be repaid," Claude says, reaching out to catch hold of Dimitri's upper arm this time - or rather, the shirt that he's wearing. His tone is simple, matter-of-fact. “I'm doing this because I believe in you. Even if you doubt everything, remember that. It doesn't matter what people think of us - whether they put us on pedestals or grind us into the dirt. We make our own futures.”

Claude lets go of Dimitri's arm, but keeps looking at him, steady.

“And I will always be your friend.”

_We make our own futures_, and for a fleeting and vulnerable moment, Dimitri believes him. He believes that this is the way Claude would rule, with a dismissal of those who would criticize him and an iron heart to forge ahead in the path he believes to be true. It's a sentiment that Dimitri is both envious of and afraid of at the same time - he sees the danger in it, but also the possibility of _living_ without being fettered by chains, and the promise of freedom is almost enough to make him want to cast them aside and join Claude in his way of thinking.

He can't, in the end. Maybe that's why Claude is the better leader.

Dimitri's mouth feels dry. The promises that. Claude is making him echo something familiar in the back of his mind, playful promises shared as a child and whispered between himself and his childhood friends - friends who he'd lost, who he'd forced into a battle they didn't want to fight in, and then abandoned. Friends who, even now, ride for Garreg Mach to support him.

He'll never in his life be able to repay that kind of debt. He'll never be able to deserve these promises that Sylvain made, that Ingrid and Felix made, that Claude is making now. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that maybe it's not about deserving, but about a bond, freely given and expecting nothing in return.

He hears that thought in Claude's voice.

“I would fight,” he starts, breathless for some reason he can't quite place, eager to make promises when he feels_ this _much, “a hundred Death Knights for you. Were I born a noble in the Alliance, I would let nothing keep me from your side.”

He doesn't reach out to touch Claude in turn, though part of him wants to, as if he could somehow convey the immensity of the gift he'd been given with a mere brush of his fingers. He isn't in Claude's service, he never can be. That he should be so close and yet so distant from this man before him fills him with a different kind of grief - mourning, perhaps, a lifetime that he could never have.

Again, Claude seems caught off guard. Again, his smile seems to fracture, but he keeps the expression as best he can and again, Dimitri thinks that he’s overstepped. He can't take it back now though, and so he continues:

“...but I'm going to lead them.” He says it quietly, as if he's only just figuring it out for himself. “I have no other choice.”

In the end, Claude doesn’t admonish him for his promises of loyalty. He simply takes a breath and composes himself, before slipping his smile back on, to where it would take someone who knows him as well as Dimitri does now to see through it. 

“No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”

From any other person, he would assume that it was a lie. From _Claude_, it would have seemed like a lie, had he not said it so quietly and with his weak little smile. It makes Dimitri take a moment outside of himself, losing focus on the leadership role he needs to take and thinking instead on the life that Claude must have lived, to have no one pledge loyalty to him - to have nobody _believe_ in him.

What a lonely life it must have been, he thinks, and he's angry suddenly, at the thought of a small dark-haired boy with nobody beside him, truly beside him. Claude deserves so much more than that, just from what he's done for Dimitri already. He deserves more than anything Dimitri could give him, but in that moment Dimitri decides that he'd give him anything.

“I'll say it to you again.” It's soft, reverent. Dimitri would go on a knee for him if he thought that it might make a difference, but he suspects that Claude would just laugh it off.

But, more to the point, he tries to refocus on the task at hand and what they both must do. Dimitri takes a moment to himself, centering and realigning on the present. Claude believes in him and will help him and although Dimitri is still hellbent on marching on Enbarr, a rising part of him feels as if he cannot disappoint his ally, even if it means taking up the mantle of leadership once more.

When he looks to Claude again, it's with a newer resolve. He will _try._

“I'll send word back to confirm with an estimate of our departure. They'll arrive at Garreg Mach before we will, so I will demand that they make camp outside of the monastery in the interim, so that we may be present for the mediation of our armies.”

“I should be well enough to ride within a day or two,” Claude says with a nod that Dimitri can't read. The projection seems optimistic, but Dimitri isn't going to argue with moving out sooner than he thinks is probable. “We can leave as soon as that, and perhaps even ahead of the rest of the army. I'd like to meet with your commanders, communicate our plan to them. We can do this.”

Dimitri nods, looking back toward the main camp, as if to assess how soon all of them could move out. A day or two _does_ seem optimistic, but he seems determined to see it done and he's not the type to take no for an answer after he's been promised something. They'll get back to Garreg Mach, he'll face his allies once more and try to do better by them, and then-

_then._

“We will.”

He won't leave it to Claude alone, Dimitri is determined to do this together. Then, take back Fhirdiad and the rest of the kingdom, then... then, he doesn't know, but Dimitri is keenly aware that Claude will likely have an answer for him. Dimitri still doesn't think too far past killing Edelgard and what that will bring to him, but he knows that it won't be the end of him, if all goes well.

In a month's time, he'll have her head or she'll have his. Either way, it will be over.

In the meantime, Dimitri turns back toward Claude, suddenly remembering his injuries now that Claude has insisted that he could ride in a day or two. They probably should have gone back by now, but with the letter and the conversation that had ensued, time had gotten away from him and now he feels a spike of concern and a small bit of guilt for keeping him so long.

“We should head back to the tent. I'm sure you're exhausted.”

Claude _doesn’t_ look great, if he’s being honest. What time they’ve spent out here has seen him to be flagging, leaning against the gate of the enclosure, looking paler, more exhausted. Dimitri is sure that his sudden embrace likely hadn’t helped matters.

At the very least, Claude doesn’t seem to protest and instead nods, grimacing in a self-deprecating manner.

“Ah... yeah, I guess I'm not doing so great,” he says, at least trying to remain cheerful despite everything, “would you mind helping me back? You don't need to do it the whole way. Just - let me lean on you a little. I hate being an invalid.”

The last part is murmured more to himself than to Dimitri, who isn’t particularly surprised that Claude has apparently stayed out too long for his ailment.

Still, being asked for help isn't quite something he's expecting though he supposes it's not completely out of the pale. Claude has already shown that he doesn't give a damn about traditional conventions and definitely doesn't seem to share the ego of the squabbling nobles who surround him. It's all the same to Dimitri, who doesn't hesitate and instead moves forward to duck down and wrap an arm around the other man's waist so that Claude can in turn put an arm over his shoulder. It might be easier, he thinks, to carry him back but Claude certainly has _some_ semblance of pride and people might talk.

Well, people are likely going to talk anyway but he doesn't care about them. Claude might, but Claude is better at diffusing this sort of thing than anyone Dimitri knows, and since he's the one who asked then he's clearly already calculated the risks.

“It's only for a few more days,” Dimitri murmurs. Reassurances shouldn't come that easy to him but they do, and as much as Dimitri would see this as a weakness on himself, when it's on Claude he only sees someone in need of assistance. He doesn't think on that too hard though, and instead begins the task of helping his friend back to the medical tent. “We can go slowly.”

Claude leans on Dimitri's shoulder and takes his time, making sure every step is placed with care.

“Thanks. I can't imagine what I'd do if you weren't here. Crawl back, I guess.” He laughs, as if it were a joke, but he's more than a little serious. “Once I've rested, I'll begin preparations for our return to Garreg Mach.”

And the next part is quiet, softer, solely for Dimitri - not that there's anyone else who could be listening.

“We're almost there, Dimitri. Just a little longer.”

Dimitri knows that it’s not the healer’s tent that he’s talking about.

He lets out a quick breath through his nose at the thought. He's known it, he's been practically bouncing on his heels, eager to be moving toward Enbarr with every step, every minute, every _second_ \- but it hasn't been acknowledged other than others telling him to be _patient_.

But now, Claude tells him _we're almost there_ and he feels anticipation lance through his heart like a blade. The shock of it turns his fingers cold and they tighten slightly around Claude's waist just to make sure he still has any feeling in them at all. He feels incensed suddenly, a panther closing in on its prey, a shark that smells blood in the water.

_Just a little longer._

“I know.”

The words feel like fire licking out of his mouth, low and almost growled out of him. It needs to be soon. It needs to be _almost_. He's waited nine years, he can't wait much more and he knows it and Claude knows it, how he wants to crawl out of his own skin with the desire of it.

Dimitri swallows hard, his throat fluttering, and he imagines, as he's imagined a hundred times before, stepping into her throne room and coming face to face with_ her_. He wants it so badly he can barely breathe.

“They know it too.” It's a bit quieter, gritted through his teeth - an admission, but not one that makes him feel vulnerable, simply a statement of fact. He focuses another deep breath, works himself through it. “They're getting louder every day.”

The transformation from the broken, scared man a few moments before to.. well, to who Dimitri has become - a feral beast searching for vengeance - doesn’t seem to rattle Claude. At the very least, he’s likely used to Dimitri’s mood swings by now, especially when he’s the one to cause them.

The mention of the voices in his head doesn’t seem to rattle Claude much either. He’s used to them as well.

“They'll carry you through it.” Claude supposes. “We'll bring them peace. And you, your revenge.”

And Dimitri agrees, at least partially. He _will_ bring them peace - he's the only one who can, the only one who will still hear them and so he has to. Maybe when this is all over, they'll stop haunting him. Maybe they'll finally rest easy. Or maybe they won't, and he'll have to live with it for the rest of his days.

Not too long ago, he would have figured that _the rest of his days_ would last up until the moment he killed Edelgard. That when it was over, he'd stumble out of the throne room and surrender himself to all those who seek to kill him. He's not so sure about that now, not now that he knows he has to take back Fhirdiad and to lead his friends to reclaim their homeland that they'd abandoned to fight with him. Not when Claude -

_Claude._ He has to have some plan, but Dimitri doesn't know it. When he's thinking logically, he thinks about how Claude may want to take the Empire for the Alliance, swallow up Edelgard's territory in his own in a grab for power... and that's actually fine, Dimitri isn't helping him for power. He's not even helping him because it's the right thing to do by his people or his friends.

They both know the reason Dimitri is here. There's never been any doubt about that.

“...do you know what she did to me? To them?”

He asks it a little suddenly, his voice still a low snarl. Claude has been letting him follow his army all this time, has been encouraging him and helping him to take his revenge, but does he even know why? Of course, there was the attempted execution, the coup, that may very well be public knowledge, but beyond that... does Claude _understand_ the weight that Edelgard had hung around his neck, or is he simply encouraging Dimitri like this because it's the right thing to do?

“Tell me.” 

Claude’s voice is even but insistent. Will his reasons even change anything? Even if they were insignificant, Claude can’t back out now without risking the wrath of the Kingdom army - and Dimitri isn’t so foolish enough to think that Claude would change his mind at a few words anyway.

No, what Claude is doing goes beyond Dimitri’s motivation. Helping Dimitri, whether he believes in him or not, surely has something to do with whatever is up his own sleeve, but Dimitri has decided a long time ago that he doesn’t care what that is as long as their goals are aligned.

So maybe the reasons don't matter to Claude - maybe Dimitri should have kept this hidden for longer, pushed it down and kept on, but... he knows how irrational he can seem at times, he knows that Claude letting him join for his own reasons and that Claude likely doesn't care what Dimitri's feelings on the matter are, but the truth of it of it... the _why_ is important to someone like Dimitri, who hates to kill but is so very good at it.

“...my father was beheaded in front of me,” he finally admits, taking care to keep his voice even, “when I was thirteen. My stepmother burned. The knights, Glenn... the last thing I heard in that blaze were their screams.”

Claude is obviously familiar with the Tragedy, he knows what happened, but still - to know of it and to _hear_ it from someone who was there are different things entirely. Dimitri continues, his voice growing more and more incensed.

“I saw them - I didn't know them, but I _saw_ them. I knew they weren't from Duscur and nobody listened to me, and my people committed a _genocide_ -” Dimitri grits that word out from between his teeth with all the hatred in his heart as his voice turns low and shaky, “- against the wrong nation.

His grip on Claude's side is so tight it's likely painful now, but he doesn't relent, continues with all the rage, all the feral anger, all the loathsome guilt that has been following in his footsteps ever since. It was his fault. There's no other explanation.

“Dedue was the only one I could save. And now, even he - ”

Dimitri cuts himself off abruptly, unable to go down that path or he might lose focus. Edelgard. He needs to talk about her. This is why he's doing this, why any of this even matters.

“She allied herself with the ones responsible and she knew they'd done it. She didn't care. It was her own _mother_ and she didn't care, and I…”

He feels like he can't breathe. It always gets like this when he thinks about the depth of Edelgard's betrayal. When Dimitri speaks again, his words are quiet, almost inaudible.”

“...I was her friend. Her… her stepbrother. I thought that I - but it didn’t matter.”

Dimitri goes silent then, unable to explain how it hurt him. How she hurt him, to destroy him in that perfect and insidious way that she had. How she’d sent Cornelia after him. How she’d taken everything. 

Claude listens carefully without reacting, and when is seems like Dimitri is finally done, he is calm, reverent and careful with this very delicate, very dangerous thing that Dimitri has given him.

“You were thirteen.” 

Claude ignores the too-tight grip of Dimitri's arm around his waist. He stops their progress, pulls away and lets Dimitri quickly reorganize them both so that he can look at Dimitri properly, even if Dimitri won’t quite meet his eyes.

“You were betrayed. It was no one's fault except those that betrayed you. And we will make her answer for her crimes. _You_ will.”

Dimitri stares blankly at the ground and nods emptily and knows all the while that if Claude were in his shoes, he would feel the same guilt. He knows enough of Claude to know that the other man cares deeply and viscerally for others, even if he likes to pretend that he doesn't half the time, and Dimitri knows that if Claude was responsible for this - for what had happened to Duscur - he'd never forgive himself.

Like this, under Claude's gaze and with everything dredged up like a scab that Dimitri can't stop _picking_ at, he feels very acutely as if he's going to cry. The emotion washes over him in a wave and he can feel the telltale signs of his throat closing up, his chest going tight - but he holds it back, clenching his jaw shut and taking in a deep, steadying breath.

“I will.”

It's the only thing that keeps him rooted to the ground. He will. He _will._

“Because of you, I will.” 

It's soft, but it's something he's known for awhile now. If Claude had left him, he would have died on Gronder Field, this much he knows. If Claude had had him killed, if Claude had let him go - the only reason he's alive right now is because Claude had the sense to take him captive and let him settle enough to talk to him in that silver-tongued way of his and to get under his skin.

He knows that, he's appreciative of it... and maybe Claude can take some form of pleasure in this, that he's helping to right this wrong. Maybe Claude can appreciate his goals now, instead of simply trying to see them through for his own reasons.

“And I'll be there,” Claude promises, “after.”

It reminds Dimitri that there _is_ an after, that there will be Fhirdiad, and then - he doesn’t know. Then he’ll leave or he’ll die or any number of things will happen to him. Kingship has never seemed within his grasp, even now with Rodrigue guiding his army closer. He’s not that person anymore. He doesn’t think he ever can be.

Still, Claude looks off over the preparations of his army in the growing dusk. “It won’t be long now,” he says, soft, reassuring as he’s always been.

Dimitri nods once, barely a movement but an agreement all the same. It feels good to think about it in those terms and to take the fiery heat that his guilt and rage brings and to hold it inside of himself like a hot coal that sears his ribcage black. It feels good to breathe out the familiar heat and to know that it will keep burning until Edelgard is dead. It's what keeps him moving, and when he gives himself into it then he doesn't feel hollow or empty anymore, just _driven_.

He would be cruel like this - he would walk away and go to hunt, his fingers twitching with that old familiar urge to _kill_ something until the beast inside of him is at last sated - but Claude is standing on unsteady legs before him and Claude has pulled him out of the fire enough times now that Dimitri is beginning to suspect that he likes the way the warmth of it sparks and crackles against him. As strong as Dimitri is and as weak as Claude is, the other man is an immovable object before him and he will not be so easily swayed by Dimitri's bouts of wrath and bloodlust.

The thought of that, that someone will still be here after everything, reaching out to him with an open palm and an impossible smile... it tethers him, binds him to Claude's fingers and goddess, he _knows_ that he's setting himself up for failure, that should he let Claude die then nothing would stop Dimitri from bringing down the sky upon everyone in Fódlan, but he can't help the way he is brought to heel by the last person he would ever have suspected.

Or maybe it's not so much of a surprise that this impossible person, who simultaneously ignites and tempers the fires within him, can keep him like this: stoking the flames but keeping him grounded all the same, encouraging, promising, watching him with his unreadable expression and his deep green eyes.

Dimitri was born and raised to be a king, but for one traitorous moment he thinks that he would be happier as a kept animal, so long as Claude is the one at the other end of the leash.

The thought churns in his stomach and he's been silent for too long. Dimitri ducks his chin down, embarrassed almost, and moves to try to grab at Claude again and offer his support.

“...we need to get back.”

They came too close, he thinks, and he doesn't know where it leaves him. As a child, he'd liked to experiment with holding his hand out to a boiling teakettle, pressing his fingers as close as he could get without touching to feel the waves of heat and moisture radiating from its angry steel. He remembers playing with the danger of it, fascinated at how just a small centimeter of distance was all the difference in the world. He remembers pressing too close and burning his hand on it one fateful day, leaving red stinging welts that kept him from swordsmanship lessons for a week.

He remembers thinking that it was worth it, just to know how it felt to touch, just the once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this far! We are both on vacation for the next two weeks but should have enough downtime that we can continue semi-regularly posting updates :) Thank you guys so much for all the support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Claude practice, as they agreed to at Fort Merceus, and they grow closer while they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spice level... rising... we are still on vacation so I can't say exactly when the next part will come, but soon!

A few weeks find them back at Garreg Mach once more: a place of safety, a place to plan and recover, a place to gather strength before their next attack.

Enbarr. Edelgard. It's so close now, only a couple of weeks away. Claude has been talking to the nobles of the Alliance, planning with the commanders, waiting for the last of Dimitri's forces to arrive. Then they'll be ready - then there will be nothing left to do but march on the Empire's capital.

For Dimitri, Claude knows, it has been a stressful couple of days. At one point, he was eager to return to Garreg Mach so that preparations for marching on Enbarr could be made more quickly and he could meet Edelgard all the sooner, but as their travels put them closer and closer to the monastery, Claude could see Dimitri dragging his feet, often lost in thought and with a look in his eyes as if he were dreading something.

Claude had urged him on - of course he had - with promises of how he would support Dimitri, how Dimitri would make a good leader, how this was achievable, and he tried to ensure that Dimitri never lost sight of the true goal, the march to Enbarr and all it entailed.

In the end, of course, Dimitri had faced his friends again. He'd been gruff, impatient, but under Claude's watchful eye, he'd been... tolerable. Annette had barreled into him for an embrace and everyone in the room went quiet, watching warily as Dimitri slowly and stiffly returned the gesture. So far, so good.

Since then, it's been a whirlwind of progress. While Claude coordinates the Alliance forces, Dimitri takes on his leadership role and attends the councils of the Kingdom forces, supervising their training, helping them in organizing his troops and managing for the distribution of supplies. He works tirelessly but in the angry animal way of his, still difficult to approach, still snarling at those who speak out against him, but... well, it's progress.

What's more, the people of Faerghus seem used to it and while it may have sent someone else recoiling on their heels, those who came to Garreg Mach - particularly those in Dimitri's inner circle - have barely even flinched. Mercedes makes him tea when he's too stressed, Annette brings extra pencils and paper and maps to their meetings so that she can give them to him if he forgets, and Sylvain says nothing when Dimitri barks at him to change his stance in training, simply does it and excels.

It seems to be working somehow, this partnership of Dimitri and Claude's, and while it’s likely that everyone from the Blue Lions can see a noticeable change in Dimitri since they'd last seen him at Gronder Field, nobody seems to want to be the first to comment on it, perhaps for fear that the progress will be undone if they call attention to it.

For his part, Claude is almost entirely recovered. He's drunk far too many unpleasant potions, been confined to a bed far too long. He pushed himself at first, wanting to be back in time to greet the first of Dimitri's forces that arrived at the monastery. He'd done more than he should have, and because of that he'd spent the first couple of days back in bed. But it's been some time since then and Claude has been able to actually rest. It's odd, but there's never been a place that felt more comfortable than Garreg Mach to him.

Before they came back, before Dimitri's friends arrived and Claude was caught up in the business of running the Alliance forces, Dimitri suggested that they train together. And it's true, Claude could probably use some practice when it comes to close combat. He's an excellent archer, and a skilled wyvern rider, but on the ground? He has some mild skill with an axe, and nothing more. Dimitri is far more accomplished at that.

So it's a combination of things, really. Claude wants to learn because it will be useful to know. He wants to get away from the constantly squabbling Alliance nobles, who come to him for decisions even when he isn't needed… and he wants to steal a tiny bit of Dimitri's time for himself.

It's a selfish impulse. Now that Dimitri's loyalists have arrived - his friends - he has responsibilities and demands on his time. Friends to talk to. People he once cared for deeply and probably still does, somewhere deep under that snarling exterior. He doesn't have as much time to waste on Claude, and that's fine, it_ should_ be fine, except Claude misses it. He misses those moments when Dimitri lurked outside the healers' tent, or before that when Dimitri practically shadowed him around the monastery. They still see each other, of course, and he still gets some of Dimitri's time - his attention - but selfishly, Claude wants a little more.

And so he asked that they meet on the training grounds and pleasantly requested that the monks keep others away. For many reasons, Claude doesn't want to be interrupted.

He's checking the weapon he chose, a training axe, but he looks up when Dimitri arrives and he smiles. The closest thing to a genuine smile in awhile.

“There you are.”

While Dimitri doesn’t return Claude’s smile, he seems more at ease than usual and nods in response. Perhaps he, too, has missed the quieter moments they were able to have together before.

Dimitri is wearing simple leathers to avoid being weighed down too much, his hair pulled messily back to keep from getting in his face while he fights. He lingers over the weapon rack before taking up a training sword - the most common weapon one might run into on the battlefield and the one Claude is most likely to fight against.

“I'll not go easy on you just because of our friendship,” he says. It's a warning, but a lighthearted one. Dimitri swings the wooden blade experimentally, checking the balance and weight of it before nodding in his approval.”What do you want to work on? I know that with axes, the problem tends to be the reach. Closing the distance against a longer weapon requires speed and nimble footwork - or an excess of armor.”

It's not as if Claude had forgotten how handsome Dimitri is. Even back in that cell, bloody and unwashed and snarling, it was still easy to see that he was an attractive man. And now - cleaned up, relatively put together, and in the closest thing to a good mood Claude's seen on him - it would be impossible for anyone to ignore, let alone someone like Claude, who's already found himself paying more attention that he should.

So he lets himself look for a moment, with a sense of resigned amusement. Yes, Dimitri is handsome. Yes, he looks particularly attractive right now. Yes, you still have to train with him and get close to him and keep your hands and your eyes completely to yourself. You brought this upon yourself, Claude von Riegan, and now you're going to have to live with it.

Claude accepts that, and then he tries to push it all away. “I've got speed, and my footwork shouldn't be a problem. I think it comes down to practice, really.”

It's rare that Claude's ever off his wyvern in a battle these days. Last time, he didn't even bring a melee weapon along, which was an obvious miscalculation that he should not have fallen prey to. Though it wouldn't have helped much - like his extra bow, it would have been attached to Hyacinth's saddle, and therefore out of reach when he fell. Still, these are all things he can take into account, just in case it happens again.

“I trained with an axe a bit, back in school, but I've had no reason to improve my skills,” he says. Claude isn't embarrassed to admit it. He's had quite a lot on his plate, after all, and he thinks Dimitri knows that stealing this bit of time just to practice something that he might not need is actually quite self-indulgent. “I suppose I'd better focus on the best way to disarm someone with a longer weapon.”

“Alright,” Dimitri says, and he thinks for a moment. Claude doesn’t think he’s had quite as much training with an axe as someone like Hilda, but honestly, it's less that Claude needs pointers on what to do and more that he simply needs to practice what he already knows against an experienced opponent. Dimitri seems to come to the same conclusion and squares off against him, straight-backed and sure of himself as he spins the blade experimentally in his hand. “Most of the Imperial soldiers are going to come at you straight on. Their form is weaker, but they make up for it in strength and the armor they wear.”

Dimitri imitates the soldiers they have both faced, sliding his foot back and holding the wooden blade in front of him with one hand, his other free to balance himself for any sudden movements.

“Disarming seems to be an easier task with an axe - if you can get the crook of your blade around mine, you can just twist and the force will knock it from my hands.”

Dimitri moves then, coming in for an attack - a mockingly slow swing so that Claude can start to get reacquainted with the proper motions he needs to make. Claude thinks perhaps Dimitri is going easy on him.

He thinks first of what he would normally do if being advanced upon by Imperial soldiers. Urge his wyvern into the air and strike from above, drawing his bow before any of them can get too close, dodging their return attacks. But if he has no wyvern, if they've already gotten close enough that his bow is less effective...

Well, then he'll have to get creative. But in order for anything creative to work, he needs to have the fundamentals down, embedded deep enough that he doesn't have to think about how they should be done.

The axe's weight is familiar in his hand, a long-ago familiarity. That makes it easier, and with Dimitri's slow movement, it doesn't take much for Claude to bring his axe to the proper angle. From this stance, he can parry the blow as well as catch the blade. He uses the momentum of his body to turn, catching the sword and pulling it out of Dimitri's hands.

That's familiar, too. He learned this once and never used it. He needs to practice, he probably needs to get a few bruises before he'll remember and be able to do it at the necessary speed for real battle. But that initial success makes him smile. 

“I guess I'm not too rusty yet.” He steps back so Dimitri can retrieve his sword and they can try again. “You don't need to be too careful. I learn faster if there are real stakes - and I can handle a few bruises.”

Though, saying that, he does remember that Dimitri is stronger than any normal man. Regardless, Claude trusts him, and even if his bruises end up worse than he'd like, he doesn't think Dimitri would lose control enough to seriously injure him.

Or at least, Claude is willing to take that chance.

The corner of Dimitri's mouth twitches up in a smirk, pleased that he's already gotten this down and perhaps a little amused at Claude’s confidence.

“It's not going to be that easy again,” he warns, before lunging at him, all catlike grace that one might not expect if they hadn't already seen him in battle. Dimitri is fierce but fair, pulling back if it seems like he's too overwhelming, giving away his next attack if he wants to give Claude a better opportunity to counter it. Claude is good, and Dimitri likely knows that, but Dimitri has also trained far more extensively in melee combat. They both seem to be aware of this and so Dimitri avoids unfairly beating Claude into the dirt, keeps a good measure of how they're doing, increases and decreases the intensity and speed of his blows to ensure that Claude can keep up.

In that way, he is a surprisingly good teacher. He's quick and calculating and knows enough of battle to know when adjustments to form need to be made, but he's not so generous as to make it easy in any way. 

Just as Dimitri is a good teacher, Claude is a good student. But then, that isn’t surprising, really, not to anyone who knows him well - when there's something that interests him, he devotes himself to it. His flippant nature isn't exactly an act, but it's not all there is either.

So he's persistent and patient, doesn't get frustrated even when he fails. He tries again, tries something new, and Claude's creative mind means that sometimes he goes in different directions - instead of blocking a blow, dropping and kicking Dimitri's feet out from under him, for example. It doesn't always work, and sometimes it backfires badly, but Claude never takes that poorly. Better to know now than in the middle of fighting for his life.

The first time he caught him off guard like that, Dimitri had laughed - a genuine chuckle that made Claude’s heart tremble - and they'd started again with him watching more intently for it, punishing Claude harder for trying.

Dimitri is better at this sort of combat than Claude, and probably always will be, due to his sheer strength advantage. But that's alright. He knows what he's doing and Dimitri doesn't press his advantage when he doesn't need to so it never feels entirely one-sided.

Claude is definitely coming out of here with a couple bruises though, particularly since Dimitri has no problems closing distances after he's been disarmed, getting physical and ramming his shoulder into Claude's chest to knock him off balance.

“Good,” he says after he does it again, and he offers a hand out to help Claude up, satisfied with the workout so far. “You're a fast learner.”

“If you hadn't been born a prince, you'd make a good teacher,” Claude says from his position on the ground. He kind of wants to stay there. He had the breath knocked out of him - not that he's upset about it, but at least in that moment relaxing on the ground seems preferable to matching his strength against Dimitri again.

But he catches his breath and he takes Dimitri's hand, using the assistance to get back on his feet. His axe is still on the ground where it fell from his hand and he doesn't pick it back up quite yet.

A few strands of Dimitri's hair are loose, and Claude wishes briefly that he could simply reach out and tuck them back in for him. He doesn't, of course.

“I'm gonna be worn out after this,” he says instead.

Dimitri tilts his head when Claude doesn't retrieve his weapon straight away and instead watches him curiously through a few strands of hair while they both catch their breath. It seems time for a break, or at least something not quite as exerting, and so he goes a little slack, relaxing his posture with a little nod at Claude's comment.

“When I was younger, the only way I could sleep would be after a hard bout of training,” he explains, and then seems to decide that simply because they’re taking a brief break doesn’t mean they need to stop training completely. “If you get disarmed, it's best to move in close when they don't expect it, where their weapons can't reach. The eyes are the best target on an armored opponent, otherwise just try to knock them off balance like I did to you.”

“Yeah?” Claude says.

That's too good of an invitation to pass up, really. Dimitri's not on his guard, and Claude wasn't either, not until this moment. He steps in close, exactly as Dimitri said - in his personal space, where it'll be difficult to raise that practice sword to block him. But he doesn't push Dimitri down, though he could - Dimitri is larger, but it wouldn't be hard to hook a foot around his ankle and push.

He doesn't. He lifts a hand, neatly pressing those stray strands of hair he'd been looking at behind Dimitri's ear. And then he doesn't linger, even though he wants to, because he knows what it's like to have a warrior's instincts and he figures there's even odds that getting in close like this is going to end with him on the ground again, probably even more bruised than before.

Dimitri seems frozen in place by the sudden contact and Claude backs out of his reach quickly, not quite far enough that Dimitri couldn't grab him if he wanted (only fair, after being that cheeky), but far enough that it can't simply be done on reflex. Claude may not be incredibly strong, but he's fast, and with catching Dimitri off guard like that, he thinks he might have gotten away with it.

Cheeky. Self-indulgent, too, but Dimitri doesn't need to know that. No one does.

“Doesn't seem fair to go for the eyes when you're already down one.” It's gentle teasing, a smile flickering bright on Claude's face. Hopefully it won't sit wrong - hopefully none of it will. It's only Claude, letting himself relax a little and have fun for a moment.

Dimitri... doesn't seem to know how to react to that. He’s still for a moment, staring at Claude. Slowly, he raises his hand, miming the motion that Claude had made to tuck his hair more securely back, as if trying to recall how it felt when Claude had done it. Eventually his hand drops again.

“I see,” he says, and he makes a decision.

Claude gets no warning at all before Dimitri is moving, fast and confident and... sure, maybe he’s still playful but maybe he's a bit embarrassed at the sudden affectionate touch and maybe he's a bit annoyed about the comment on his eye.

Dimitri is aggressive and he knows how to throw his weight around, and his intent seems to be on getting Claude back down to the ground. He does this with his forearm pressed against Claude’s chest, his leg sweeping out to catch his ankle, pushing as quickly as he can to lurch him off of his feet.

Claude, for all that he knows he was unfairly teasing, isn’t prepared for such a sudden and vigorous response. There's not a whole lot he could have done even if he were prepared though, except try to get out of Dimitri's reach as quickly as possible or try to knock him down instead.

Dimitri outweighs him, and while he might not be quite as fast as Claude, he's plenty fast. Claude doesn't want to turn this into a brawl, especially since he knows he probably deserves it - he knew better even while he was doing it. He just couldn't help himself. That's gotten him into trouble before.

He hits the ground hard, wind knocked out of him again, and winces. He was already going to have a bruise there. The wages of sin, he supposes.

He doesn't try to get up.

“Oof. I've learned my lesson - next time I'll let you do it yourself,” he says, a bit breathless but still smiling. But then, that's normal for Claude.

He does, however, remind himself not to get carried away like that again. Just because he wants to touch Dimitri does not mean that Dimitri wants to be touched. Claude knows that, he just - wanted it badly enough to be stupid about it. Dimitri has let Claude touch him before, even when he won’t let anyone else near him and so, he’d thought - maybe...

Dimitri strides over now that Claude is on the ground and crouches down with his elbows on his knees. Claude looks up at him, catches his expression, devoid of any anger or his usual snarling and thinks maybe he misjudged things. Maybe it isn’t that Dimitri didn’t want to be touched - maybe it’s just that they come from two very different places.

Claude didn’t roughhouse for fun as a child, not really, not with other people. He didn’t have friends he could do that kind of thing with. Dimitri, though, growing up with the Kingdom youths - Sylvain, Felix, even Ingrid - surely did. Claude can imagine that most of Dimitri's friendships were solidified in physicality, cemented in the shoves and boorish wrestling that they might get up to in order to resolve any dispute, or sometimes just because it was fun to do it.

That likely changed a long time ago, but maybe Claude's teasing has brought it out again. Dimitri tips his chin a little, a smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks down toward the other man, and Claude thinks that he read this wrong. That Dimitri wasn’t angry with him at all. Uncomfortable, maybe. Surprised.

But he doesn’t see any anger in that smile.

“Will you?” Dimitri says.

Dimitri is looking down at him more fully now and his smile fades and all of a sudden there’s something - dangerous in his eyes. Claude cannot read him, except that he knows it isn’t anger burning there.

He thinks about how the cats in the monastery play at dominance, getting their opponent on their back and sinking teeth into their throat, and he thinks about how they're already halfway there, with Claude on the ground and not trying to get up anytime soon. He thinks that Dimitri looks particularly like a predator right now and he’s not surprised at all to realize that he longs to be consumed.

“And what if I -” Dimitri’s hands are gloved as he reaches down for his face, and so the brush of his fingers is devoid of warmth, but it’s so, so light, barely a touch at all as he traces the path that Claude's fingers had taken, mirrored on Claude’s skin. He hooks his index finger at Claude’s temple, drags slowly over the shell of his ear, down to his jaw. It's curious, exploratory, and his fingers don't stop where Claude's did - they follow the path down the line of his throat, with Dimitri’s eye following the touch.

He surely can't feel Claude's pulse through his gloves, not with this barely-there touch, but it is jackrabbit quick. Claude keeps himself so, so still.

When his fingers finally brush against Claude's collarbone Dimitri pulls his hand away, all trace of amusement or teasing gone from his expression. Every movement has been slow, unsure, curious.

“-what if I returned the favor?” Dimitri says, finally.

Claude is afraid that if he moves, he'll break whatever spell has fallen over them. Every fiber of him _wants_, and it's thanks to that feather-light touch, thanks to the way Dimitri is looking at him - as if he wants something too.

Claude has flirted before. Claude has not really tried to hide his appreciation. Claude has pushed, very carefully, at the limits of their friendship. Dimitri has never done so in return, has - each time - refused Claude, whether deliberately or because he simply didn't realize what he was doing. He's never done something like this. Claude isn't sure if he really knows what he's doing, if he knows how badly Claude has wanted Dimitri to touch him, to look at him like that.

He doesn't move. He doesn't want to frighten Dimitri off and it feels absurd to think that, because this is _Dimitri_.

But still.

“I'd let you,” Claude says, and he means it.

He wants to pull Dimitri down. He wants to topple him over so they're both on the ground, so he can get close, so he can press his mouth to the line of Dimitri's jaw. He wants Dimitri's hand on him again, in his hair, around his neck, he doesn't really care. He wants so much more than that.

He wants just _one_ kiss, so that he'd know if Dimitri had ever considered kissing him.

“I'd let you do just about anything.”

That comes with an easy smile, and with anyone else there might be a sense of plausible deniability - _oh, it's just a joke_ or _Claude is never serious_. But that's missing this time because Claude is being serious despite his smile. Whether Dimitri will take it that way or not, Claude doesn't know, but he loses nothing by being honest.

It’s too late to turn back now, he thinks, and with the way Dimitri is looking at him, maybe - 

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

The silence and tension stretches between them. Dimitri does not look away, not even when he finally speaks.

“I would do,” he says on a breath, rushed and whispering, “everything to you.”

Dimitri breathes in again, shaky, and he lets his legs shift underneath him, leaning on a hip on the hard dirt ground of the training area as he brings a hand to Claude's collar and wraps his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

(The last time he did this, it had been with the intent to kill him.)

Dimitri pulls then, forcing Claude to sit up so that he can really look at him, so that they can regard one another as equals, without someone on the ground and someone else's animal instincts going haywire at the sight. He's close, still - too close, maybe a foot away from one another and Dimitri’s next breath comes out shaky when he repeats:

“....everything.”

Dimitri’s gaze drops away, and Claude feels exposed, as if Dimitri has seen right through him. The light touches, the teasing, the awkward push and pull of their relationship and everything that Claude has wanted for what feels like a lifetime but has only been a few short weeks. In that moment Claude doesn't know what will happen next but he knows that whatever it is will be significant somehow.

There's still some part of Claude that isn't sure this is real. But Dimitri isn't the sort to play a cruel joke, he isn't the sort to be anything less than earnest, and he looks entirely serious - and maybe a little lost, like he doesn't know what to do and he’s in over his head.

He probably is. They probably both are. Claude's had a few brief relationships - if they could be called that, when all they amounted to were a few nights together. Dimitri, he thinks, likely hasn’t even had that. This is different for both of them, or at least it feels like it could be. No matter what, if Claude gives in to what he so badly wants, things will change.

But Claude has never been afraid of change.

He looks at Dimitri, drinking him in. Then he reaches out and brushes his fingers along Dimitri's chin, drawing his attention, just enough so that Dimitri is meeting his eyes again.

“That's what I want,” he says, quiet.

It's straddling the line between affectionate and inappropriate because Claude _does_ want everything, he wants all the things he's thought of in the dark of night and told himself to stop, that he shouldn't, that Dimitri is his friend and thinking of him that way is unfair. But he’s never quite able to actually stop, and he can't control his dreams, and he wants so much. He wants everything.

But it isn't just that. If this were only physical, Claude could find a way to work it out of his system. It isn’t. It’s that moment on the battlefield with Dimitri’s eyes on his that slid a sword straight into his heart. It’s later, when Dimitri looked at him and said _were I born a noble in the Alliance, I would let nothing keep me from your side._ It's a collection of small moments, and he already knows it's much too soon to say anything about that, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it.

Claude moves slowly enough that, if Dimitri really wants to, he could stop him. He also moves with enough certainty that his carefulness is not an invitation to stop him. He wants this, he wants it so much.

He lets his fingers slide down to curl around the back of Dimitri's neck, a light touch, and then he leans in and kisses him.

Dimitri doesn't turn away from it, not when Claude's fingers are slowly pressing into him, wrapped around the base of his neck and he's leaning in that careful way of his and he's sure, so sure, like he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

The kiss is every sword that's ever bitten into his flesh, every feeling of bright and sharp and _here_, and it's just as lethal, just as sudden, and even more beautiful. They’re kissing and he doesn't know what this means for either of them but he never wants him to stop, and Dimitri leans into Claude, steadies himself with a palm against the dirt ground and presses back into it.

There isn't a lot of experience behind it but Dimitri makes up for it with a pure and sudden desire, until what was once a tentative brush of their lips turns into a crashing force, with Dimitri bringing his other arm up around Claude's shoulders to keep him close.

_Everything._ Claude said he wanted everything and that's what Dimitri gives him, all of his feral want at the same time as his tenderhearted need, and when they finally break so that he can breathe, Dimitri keeps his forehead pressed against Claude's own, staying as close to him as he physically can while still catching his breath. But it's not enough, it's not enough for either of them and so Dimitri noses closer, bringing his mouth along the edge of Claude's jaw, teeth scraping against the fine hair of his slight beard.

Claude doesn't know what he expected. A thousand possible outcomes spilled through Claude's mind in the moment before he pressed his lips to Dimitri's, and he hadn’t known which of them might come true, which might be possible. But this - what he gets - is more than he could have possibly expected.

He can't think. Any kind of plots or plans or possibilities fade from his mind, and all that's left is Dimitri. The press of his lips - unpracticed, hungry, perfect. His arm around Claude. The _nearness_ of him, the way he doesn't pull away or even flinch, he just kisses Claude back, like maybe he's wanted this the same way that Claude has. And afterward, all Claude can do is breathe and try to find a way to calm his racing heart. It is, of course, impossible.

“Don't leave me,” Dimitri says, and it's hushed and soft and vulnerable and Claude feels it like a spike through his heart. 

Dimitri is still close, so Claude reaches out to slip his arms around the other man. The angle is a little awkward, but he really doesn't care so long as he gets to touch Dimitri. _He gets to touch Dimitri._

He didn't really think it was possible.

“I'm right here with you,” he says, soft as Dimitri’s words and far more certain.

Claude doesn't know if this will be the comfort Dimitri needs but he wants to offer it anyway. He does have to leave eventually, but that won't be for months yet - after the war is over, after the rebuilding has mostly been completed. Still, he doesn't want to lie to Dimitri. Not about this. Not when it's so important.

At this moment though, he doesn't want to go anywhere. He can't stay, but - goddess, when Dimitri's breath is against his neck like that, he wants nothing more than to obey him and _stay_.

“I’m all yours.”

He turns his head, kissing the closest part of Dimitri that he can reach, even if it is just his ear.

Part of him still finds this hard to believe. When Claude walked into the training grounds, he'd known that Dimitri would never want him this way, that whatever glances he stole and flirting he indulged in was all for himself. But this - he doesn't know how it's possible, but he doesn't want to question it.

Dimitri nods weakly, murmuring an affirmation with his mouth still pressed to Claude's jaw, and Claude kisses him again, his ear, the hinge of his jaw, and Dimitri tilts his head so that they can kiss properly, pressing his lips against Claude's and kissing him soundly, licking his way into Claude's mouth with a needy hunger, insatiable and starving for touch. He only pulls away when they finally need to breathe again.

“I knew,” Dimitri murmurs, breathing heavily and brushing his thumb along the nape of Claude's neck. They're still close, not close enough, but then again, Claude doesn't think he can ever be close enough to Dimitri ever again. “When you said you'd be there, after everything. I knew that I could endure an ‘after’, if you were there”

Claude was not in any way prepared for this. There's no way he could have been. He knows, of course, that Dimitri is sincere and earnest, loyal to a fault and also unused to affection and, probably, romance. But somehow Claude hasn’t done the math right in his head, somehow his equation didn't add up to _this_.

Maybe because he thought it wouldn't happen at all. Maybe because a part of him assumed that if it ever did happen, it would be... a brief moment of solace. Claude giving Dimitri comfort and pleasure and encouraging him to lay down his weapons for a little while. And then it would be over and it would never be more than that.

That would be similar to the few intimate relationships Claude has had in the past - brief, pleasant, and then over. It would have been different of course, because his feelings for Dimitri are different, but that's what he thought it would be like, if it happened at all. He didn't expect this and for once, he doesn't know how to react to it.

He holds on to Dimitri, wanting to pull him closer except there isn't much closer he can come. No one has ever treated Claude like this before. Like he wants to be just as close as Claude does, like he doesn't want to move away even for a moment, like every touch matters. He wants to slide his fingers through Dimitri's hair, he wants to peel every piece of armor off him and then start on the clothing. He wants to press his lips to the scar peeking out above the collar of Dimitri's shirt. The one from the Death Knight.

That part he can do, and so he does, a gentle kiss before he loses a little control and nips at Dimitri's neck. Then he tries, he tries to focus, to get ahold of himself before he ends up doing something he really shouldn't on the floor of the training grounds. Though the door _is_ locked -

No. He needs to focus.

“I'll be by your side whenever you need me,” Claude says. That much he can promise without lying. He does have to return to Almyra - he has to settle things there. But he can promise Dimitri this, that he'll be there whenever he is needed, that even if he goes he'll come back if Dimitri calls. It makes things harder, of course, it divides his loyalties, and he doesn't know if Dimitri will understand when Claude finally explains - but now isn't the time. And Claude can handle difficult.

“You know - I didn't think -” he laughs then, quiet and sincere, and kisses Dimitri, because he can and it's amazing. “I didn't think you even noticed I wanted you.”

“I didn't,” Dimitri admits, maybe a little sheepish. He lets his arm finally fall from around Claude's shoulders and readjusts himself to sit a little easier next to him, then he moves as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, getting up on one knee and swinging his other around Claude's legs, straddling him to rest back on his thighs. They’re closer like this, closer than the awkward side-by-side that they were before, and Dimitri gets his arms easily around Claude's shoulders.

“Not at first. Not until now. But… it was always there, wasn’t it?” He lets a hand fall from Claude’s neck, slowly reaching up to tip Claude's chin upward and catch him in another kiss, chaste and adoringly sweet. The majority of Dimitri’s weight is still on his knees, careful not to overburden Claude though he is - Goddess - distractingly close.

He's above Claude now and can press down against him and dictate the pace of their kiss, his fingers slowly wrapping around the back of Claude's neck, thumb at his pulsepoint. Claude's heart is pounding now, and he is sure Dimitri must be able to feel it even through his gloves.

This is good, it's almost too good, and all Claude wants to do is kiss Dimitri again. No, that’s not all - he wants more, he wants to find every scar on Dimitri's body and kiss it, he wants to taste Dimitri and make Dimitri feel better than he's ever felt before. If he thought that finally getting to be close to Dimitri would make him want this any less, he was incredibly wrong.

He loves how quickly Dimitri learns, how confident he is, despite the fact that Claude is rather sure he hasn't had much practice. It doesn't matter anyway because he's a fast learner - and even if he weren't, his clear hunger is an impossible draw to Claude. Claude has tried not to think about it, he's tried not to care, but something inside him has longed to be wanted for so long. Like this, yes, but - more.

And more is what Dimitri is offering him, immediately, with no hesitation. _After._ His sincerity, his intense devotion, it's something Claude always tried to pretend he didn't care about. But it makes his heart beat faster, it makes him want to lay that heart at Dimitri's feet and allow him to do with it as he wishes, so long as he keeps looking at Claude like that. Keeps touching Claude like he wants him more than anything.

“It was. For awhile now. I wasn't going to say anything.” Claude doesn't mind admitting it. He's not embarrassed that he fell for Dimitri - he's not embarrassed about his attraction or his emotions. He just didn't want to push them on to a man who wasn't ready, who wasn't interested. But Dimitri, of all people, deserves to know how badly Claude wanted him.

“It's not fair that you're -” he waves a hand vaguely at Dimitri, running out of eloquence, “- well, all I could look at.”

It's mild torture, being so close to Dimitri like this. Claude could reach out and touch him, arch off the ground and press them together, pull Dimitri down on top of him and move against him until all he can think about is Claude. But he knows that it would be moving too fast, even if it's practically impossible to refrain. So instead he kisses Dimitri, letting him set the pace but always asking for more.

He pulls away only long enough to breathe and to speak again, soft and breathless.

“Come to my room tonight. We don't - have to do anything. I just want to see you.”

'Don't have to do anything' doesn't count for kissing, Claude tells himself. That's already on the table. He's not lying if he says they don't have to do anything and then makes Dimitri kiss him until neither of them can stay awake any longer.

Dimitri flushes a little, looking pleased. Claude likes that look on him, but he doesn’t have the chance to enjoy it for long - Dimitri busies himself with tangling his fingers in Claude's hair and kissing him again.

“Okay,” he says when their lips finally part, looking at Claude beneath him, gaze heavy. “I want to see you too. I've wanted - to be near you, even before I knew. I'll only want it more now.”

If Claude had thought about it, he would have realized it sooner. Dimitri spends time near him even when he doesn't have to - outside the healers' tent while he was recovering, often nearby when they were at Garreg Mach before, and even now when they've both got so much to do Claude has often been able to glance up and catch sight of Dimitri not so far away, also hard at work. 

Claude thought that it was simply that he was the only one Dimitri trusted at first - that he was the only one Dimitri was really comfortable around. And maybe that was true, maybe that's all it was. But now, he knows, it will be more.

He wants to steal as many of Dimitri's moments as he can. They both have so much to do - they're in the middle of a war, marching on Enbarr in mere weeks, and Dimitri has his men to care for while Claude has the nobles to coddle. They won't be able to spare much time for each other, but Claude wants all he can get.

Their rooms are near each other at least. Dimitri can visit him - or he can visit Dimitri, it doesn't really matter. Claude wants to kiss him, and touch him, and convince him to let go of all his inhibitions, but he wants to do much more foolish things as well. Like fall asleep next to him, or bring him tea in the morning, or brush his hair out of his eyes and talk to him about silly things until he relaxes.

Truly, Claude thinks with a smile, he's in trouble. But that's been true since the beginning.

“Anytime,” he says. “I mean that. I'll take what I can get, but I told you - I want everything.”

Rather more daring than he knows he should be, when Claude kisses Dimitri this time, he rests a hand above his knee. Not quite on his thigh - not too close, not too intimate - but just touching him, indulging his own desire to be closer. Claude isn't going to push too hard, he knows Dimitri's comfort zone is probably far different than his own, but he also knows that there's no use pretending he doesn't want the things he wants.

He doesn't want to get up off the ground, either. He would happily stay here under Dimitri forever, kissing him, wanting so much more. And they are alone here, and the door is locked - but, to be completely truthful, Claude thinks Dimitri deserves much more than the dirty floor of the training ground. Whether that's tonight or another night, Claude doesn't really want it to be here.

“You'd better get off me, or I'll probably end up embarrassing myself,” Claude says and smiles, a bit wry. Maybe a little too much honesty?

There’s something so much like hunger in Dimitri’s eyes just then, so much like it that Claude wants to forget about what he’s just said and pull Dimitri down to him and erase the thought of everything else. But this is still so delicate and new, and Dimitri surely hasn’t had much experience, and Claude needs to at least _try_ to control himself. 

Dimitri seems to come to a similar conclusion, and finally pulls away with a short nod.

“-apologies.” He sounds a little embarrassed now, and shuffles backward so he can stand, reaching a hand out to help Claude up as well. When Claude stands, Dimitri doesn't pull his hand away, but instead steps closer into his personal space, closer until they're mere inches away and Claude can feel the heat come off of his skin.

“Tonight,” he promises, leaning in for another kiss, trapping the word between them like all the secrets that Claude is so terribly fond of.

He loves this, he loves how casually tactile Dimitri is. Claude has never really thought he would enjoy something like that, but then, he's never experienced it before either. And maybe it's because it's Dimitri - maybe it's because Claude wants to be near him, too. If this, whatever it is, means that Dimitri will be touching him all the time... well, Claude doesn't mind the thought of that.

There's no way Claude is going to keep a smile off his face for the rest of the day - luckily, he smiles most of the time anyway. Most people can't even tell when it's not real, so they certainly won't be able to tell that this one is entirely real.

Tonight, then. “I'll be thinking about it -” _you_, Claude thinks, _I’ll be thinking about you_ “- all day.”

Indeed, it'll be a feat to keep his mind on his work. He can afford a bit of distraction, though, they're mostly into the logistics portion of their attack preparation, and Claude's clever mind is less needed for that sort of thing. Still, he'll be embarrassed if he's caught daydreaming about Dimitri instead of paying attention to something important.

He kisses Dimitri again - goddess, he can't help himself, it's truly ridiculous - then pulls away just enough to reach up and smooth back Dimitri's hair. Now it looks less like Claude's hands were just in it.

Not so long ago, he'd said he wouldn't do that again. He thinks that might not apply anymore.

Dimitri moves back just enough to get his hands up to undo the tie in and let his hair down so he can move to fasten it back with all the various strands that have fallen out through exertion or through kissing with Claude's fingers against him. It's just short enough that he'll never manage to secure it all back, but it definitely looks a sight better than it did when he'd first gotten off the ground.

“Go then,” he tells Claude, now that he's managed to finally put some distance between them, “while I can still let you.”

It is much harder to go than it should be. Claude tells himself _just one more kiss_ and then he stops himself because he knows better, there's no way he could stop at one, it's going to be hard enough leaving at all. This is all so new and incredible, and Claude's wanted it - wanted Dimitri - in a way that he's never wanted anyone before.

So he doesn't kiss Dimitri again, no matter how badly he wants to. He forces himself to step away and tells himself that it's only for now, that he'll see Dimitri tonight, that they'll have more time.

He doesn't know how the weeks to come will play out or how much time they'll be able to steal for each other. But it's Claude, so he's already planning and hoping and thinking of ways to steal some moments in the middle of the day. They do see each other often enough, simply in the regular course of things - Claude the commander of the Alliance forces, Dimitri the leader of the Kingdom loyalists.

Maybe Claude can find a way to give them moments alone. Maybe he'll be able to touch Dimitri, to kiss him, to feel the heavy attention of his gaze.

He's getting ahead of himself.

“I'll see you.” He smiles at Dimitri, because if he lets himself get within arm's reach this whole 'leave and get back to work' plan is going to fall apart. But that smile is more intimate, more open than anything Claude's given anyone before.

And then he runs a hand through his own hair, putting it more or less back in order, and leaves before he can give in to his impulses.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri starts putting the pieces of Claude's plan together and Claude decides that it's time to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for Claude's canon endings and origins in this chapter, folks!

Dimitri is lost in thought for the remainder of the day.

He barely participates in his meeting with Gilbert - though that's hardly anything out of the ordinary when it comes to his interactions with the rest of his household. He's been irritable and stubborn with his friends at the best of times, and when he wants nothing more than to be alone with Claude again the behavior compounds until most of his allies decide to delicately avoid engaging with him or trying to force answers out of him and instead manage to work things out among themselves.

He'll need to be better, he knows but he can't help his sour mood right now, not when everyone around him is a vivid reminder of the one person who _isn't_. It seems like these pointless meetings take up most of the day and when it's all over, Dimitri forces down a plate of food that Annette brings him and storms back to his room to wait for the sun to set.

Claude. _Claude_. Claude, who kissed him, who said he’d be here for him, who touched him in a way that he’d never thought he’d be touched again. Claude, who went down on his back on the training grounds and didn’t get back up, who watched Dimitri, vulnerable in more ways than one, and who let Dimitri touch his throat, his collarbone, his mouth -

It’s almost too much to think about. He can’t focus on anything else. Claude’s impossible green eyes. Claude’s smile that Dimitri can read multitudes from, Claude’s soft promises and softer lips. Claude looking at him like he was… well, someone worth looking at. Like he was more than just a beast, covered in blood, like he was something strong and desirable and - and redeemable.

Dimitri doesn’t know what Claude’s plans are and on this day, he doesn’t care. He knows that Claude wants him, he knows that Claude kissed him and Claude wants to see him again. Nothing else matters. What else ever could?

Making the decision to go to his room feels as easy as breathing.

He's still staying in Sylvain's old room at the very end of the hall - Sylvain had taken this rather gracefully and moved into Dimitri's old room in turn, after grabbing a few personal belongings that Dimitri hadn’t even noticed were there. 

Dimitri strips out of the clothes he'd been wearing for most of the day and finds himself a simple shirt and pants to change into. Most of the clothing he owns is insulated for the frigid north of Faerghus, with various furs and padding to keep him warm and so finding something that's actually appropriate for such a casual encounter is... difficult, but he manages nevertheless.

He doesn't let himself wonder if it was a joke or if Claude wasn't serious about this. Claude hardly ever seems _serious_, but there have been a few times when the other man's smile had faded and he'd said something with open sincerity and he thinks that their time in the training grounds together had been one of them. He hopes, anyway, because he's never been particularly good at reading people.

Dimitri loses himself in the thought until the hour grows late and he hears footsteps in the hall outside of their fellow allies returning to their rooms to sleep. It isn't until there's silence again in the hall that Dimitri creeps out, cautious for anyone who might still be around - but of course, there's no one.

He's quiet as he moves down the doors, counting in his mind before he reaches Claude's and Dimitri doesn't allow himself to hesitate before knocking softly - though even that seems too loud in the silent hall around him.

The air feels still as he waits for Claude to answer. Dimitri shifts uncomfortably where he’s standing, recounts the doors to make sure he has the right one, and tells himself that it’s ridiculous to be nervous, that he has far greater things to worry about than Claude’s affections - but all the same, he’s nervous.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. Claude opens the door and looks more cleaned up since their bout at the training grounds earlier. He’s changed his clothing, brushed out his hair, and looks… nice, Dimitri thinks, and he’s allowed to think that. He’s allowed to look at him and think that he’s something to be desired. He’s allowed to let his mind drift to the delicate curve of his nose, the careful waves of his hair, the -

“Hey,” Claude greets him, smiling and pulling back to let Dimitri in after him. With nothing else to do, Dimitri follows him inside and doesn’t turn back when Claude pushes the door closed behind him. “Hmm… I think I should be saying ‘hey, handsome’ instead.”

It’s strange, how this sort of thing isn’t entirely unexpected from Claude’s lips, but hearing it now gives it an entirely different meaning, now that he knows that Claude means it, now that he knows he’s not just being teased, that Claude is actually - goddess forbid - _flirting_ with him.

Dimitri doesn’t know what to do with that. He panics in that moment, folds his arms across his chest, and tries to pin down how he feels about Claude calling him _handsome_.

He doesn’t think he is - well, he knows he isn’t. He hasn’t had a decent haircut in years, his face is marred by his eyepatch, his scars, to say nothing of the rest of him. Sure, to some it might be seen as attractive, but to someone like Claude, who is so nimble and graceful? To someone as smart and elegant as he is?

Dimitri finally just scoffs, though he thinks that the reaction came too late to be seen as genuine.

“Must you?”

He realizes that it sounds rude a moment after he says it and is hit with a tinge of regret - to compensate, Dimitri reaches out, grasping at the sleeve of Claude's shirt and tugging him over so that they can be closer once more. This is what he's wanted and what he's been waiting for ever since Claude walked away. Dimitri watches him with hunger in his expression, leaning back against the door as he pulls Claude in for a warm kiss.

Back on the training grounds Claude said that they didn't have to do anything and it had been a comfort. Now though, Dimitri wants badly to kiss him. It doesn't have to go any further and part of him wants to spend the night just talking and touching like this, but… but for now, he needs to kiss him with all the earnest desperation that he's been holding onto since he'd first touched him at the training grounds.

Claude seems more than happy to do just that. He leans into Dimitri, letting his body rest against his and pushes him with gentle force against the door. It doesn't feel like an attempt to pin him - it's just the two of them wanting to be closer with all the latent energy that's been building since the afternoon.

When they part, Claude grins, triumphant.

"I really must," he murmurs, nosing at Dimitri's jaw, kissing the line of it and the spot where it meets his neck, "You don't think you're handsome? Don't worry. I've got a 'things about Dimitri that make my knees weak' list I'll read to you sometime." 

Dimitri tilts his chin upward at the attention to his neck, giving Claude all the room in the world as his hands move around him, keeping him close and trying to relax a little more into the touch and the warmth of him. And it _is_ embarrassing - even if they were back at the Academy, he'd be embarrassed by someone making such bold statements like this.

It's different because it's Claude, and Dimitri can tell himself that Claude has always been this way but he hasn't. The compliments, the adoration, the _sweetness_ is totally new and Dimitri finds himself reeling at the intensity of being under Claude's affections like this. It's not like he's entirely flattered by it either - most of what comes out of Claude's mouth is ridiculous enough to be playful, but despite himself Dimitri finds himself wanting to play along.

“I'd rather kiss you,” he says and he’s not really talented enough with words or charm to reciprocate and wax poetic about Claude's many redeeming features - perhaps at one point in his life, but now Dimitri shows most things by _action_ and this is much the same. He chases after Claude when the other man steps away, kissing him as promised, before moving more fully into his room and settling near the foot of his bed.

Dimitri doesn't really think about the implications of it yet and he looks up toward Claude and watches his movements across the floor, but realizes suddenly that he doesn't know what to talk about. Dimitri's only two topics of conversation for the past five years have been marching to Enbarr and killing Edelgard - when it comes to smalltalk, he simply doesn't have much to say.

That was different back then too. He frowns and tries to think back on how it felt when they were at the Academy together, when Dimitri could have charmed someone into handing over the shirt on his back, when many of the merchants had their own special discounts for him, when he'd filled his day with inane chatter while maintaining focused on his goal. He's not sure if he can be that person again - he's not sure if Claude would even want him to try - but the thought does bring up memories, and not all of them are entirely unpleasant.

"...does it ever bother you, staying in your old room?" He asks, glancing to the myriad of books that Claude keeps neatly lined up, or the stacks of vaguely important papers loosely kept on his desk. It had bothered Dimitri enough to demand he swap, and even then these hallways seem to haunt him at times. "Surely the leader of the Alliance could afford more luxurious quarters." 

Claude considers that and moves to sit near Dimitri on the bed, within arm's reach but not as close as he could get.

"No, it doesn't bother me," he murmurs, tilting his head to glance around his room, "I've traveled around a lot, so I didn't really have a lot of chances to settle in anywhere. I guess this room is probably one of the places I've spent the most time." 

He pauses, before adding: "I'm comfortable here."

It makes sense in a way. Dimitri doesn't know of anywhere where the familiarity would bring him comfort - the place he'd grown up is Imperial territory now, the palace he used to live in, the fortresses he used to journey to in order to visit the various kingdom nobles... and here, the place where he'd wasted away too much of his time, grown too complacent, and let Edelgard slip through his fingers.

That it brings some form of comfort to Claude though is nice, though the thought behind it - _I've traveled around a lot _\- isn't something that he'd have expected. Then again, why wouldn't it be? Claude had shown up out of nowhere shortly before attending the Academy and some part of his bloodline is clearly foreign in some way. The idea that he's never had many places to put roots shouldn't come as a surprise.

"You don't strike me as the type who settles easily," Dimitri admits in a quiet murmur. He doesn't know what Claude's plans are, really - he assumes that Claude will go back to the Alliance and some semblance of discussion over how to divide the Empire will consume their waking hours and then it will just be... them, the two rulers of Fódlan.

Dimitri suddenly has to pause as the thought strikes him, how different the political landscape could change if this... whatever lies between them were to become something substantial. Claude has given him a path to Edelgard and given him a small hope for something after his vengeance, and now there's a wealth of possibility with just the two of them as unparalleled rulers over the land.

He's not afraid of being manipulated. It would have been_ easier_ for Claude to keep Dimitri feral, to point him toward Edelgard in the end and then let him go off to die in whatever way found him. A gentle reaffirmation, a courtship, dragging him back from the edge… it's too much effort for the same end goal. Three weeks ago, Dimitri would have _given_ Claude all of Faerghus if he'd asked. So... no, as much as Claude schemes, Dimitri can’t see how capturing him has benefitted Claude significantly enough to be worth the risk.

Which only leaves how this will end. Barring something tragic happening in Enbarr, the two of them will be left with half a continent each and an affair worthy of the history books. And that means... that means...

"...why did you capture me?" He finally asks, looking over with a curious glance, "at Gronder Field. I would have killed you there - and you had no guarantee I'd ever be of any use to you."

Claude is quiet for a long moment, and then he reaches out and takes Dimitri's hand. It's a simple gesture, almost casual. Dimitri looks to where their hands are joined and Claude slowly tightens his fingers. 

"I told you when you were in that cell, didn't I? I didn't want to watch you die."

His tone is flippant but he doesn't look at Dimitri when he says it. Instead, he simply watches where their hands are touching, and it seems like he's holding something back, like he's finally showing some of his vulnerability in response to Dimitri's own brutal openness. 

"If you didn't want to help me, I would have left you in that cell until we defeated the Empire. And then - I don't know. But the thought of you dying when I could have prevented it made me sick to my stomach." Claude's voice is soft, honest. "We weren't close at school, but you were my friend. I've killed enough old friends already." 

“I wouldn't have done the same for you.”

Dimitri admits it hollowly, and he feels ashamed to even say it. He only had eyes for Edelgard and would have cut through a thousand men to get at her, would have easily tried to kill Claude himself. Claude's hand on his is a lifeline, and he tightens their fingers together even as he tells Claude that he'd have killed him if given half the chance.

“And even so,” he continues, slowly working his way through it, “you didn't have to... to visit me every day. To let me go, to let me follow you around like some…”

Dimitri doesn't know how to finish that sentence and so he trails off, frowning. It's not that this is a charity that he's too proud to accept, but rather he's acutely aware that it's a gamble that Claude didn't have to make, one that he had no business making in the first place. Could Claude have harbored feelings for him, even then? Could that have colored his decisions and made him foolish when it came to their situation?

Dimitri doesn't know. What he _does_ know is that Claude's risky plays have paid off - more for him than for Claude - and that Claude may have single-handedly saved Faerghus. Somehow, he doesn't think that Gilbert would be too happy to hear about that.

When he speaks again his voice is quiet but without emotion, matter-of-fact.

“You probably could have taken all of Fódlan with me out of the picture.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let you rot in there?” Claude answers him quickly, scoffing at the idea. “I don't want Fódlan.”

Dimitri turns to look at him then, snapped out of his quiet guilt by Claude’s admission. If he doesn’t want to rule, then why is he even doing this?

“I want it to be better,” Claude tells him, answering his unspoken question, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath, “I want it to be at peace, to be a place where people are equal and have equal chances at happiness. But I've never wanted to rule it or to conquer it. I would rather secure the crown for you.”

The air feels very still all of a sudden. Dimitri’s hand goes slack in Claude’s fingers and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. What would he say? What _could_ he say?

When he doesn’t respond, Claude continues: “What I did, I did for myself, because I care about you. But I did it for Fódlan as well. This land deserves a king like you, Dimitri.

“You're a king already and everyone in Fódlan knows it, even if they've tried to take it away from you. You're a fearsome warrior. You're strong and you are capable of making decisions and following them through. And - you're just. You've never hated someone simply because they're different from you. You want this place to be better too, and people will listen to you.”

Claude looks down at where he still has his fingers wrapped around Dimitri’s limp hand. He looks so sad like this, without the customary trace of a smile on his lips or the lilt in his voice. Vulnerable.

“I'll crush the Empire, and then I'll give you Fódlan's crown. The Empire, the Kingdom, the Alliance. All of it.”

Dimitri keeps some form of hope until the very end, when Claude says _the Alliance_, like he's not going to be around to rule it, and Dimitri stands very suddenly, letting Claude’s fingers slip away despite his firm hold.

He still doesn't look at Claude. He doesn't do anything. He feels, in that moment, frozen, like an animal that has just recognized a predator in the distance. Any movement and it will come down on him and swallow him whole. He can scarcely breathe, and for an entirely less-pleasant reason than what he'd hoped, coming into Claude's room tonight. The myriad of feelings that bubble through his chest - shock, understanding, _betrayal _\- layer over one another as his thoughts crash together, and in the absence of a clear winner, he simply stands there with his fingers tight into fists, so tight that it makes his knuckles white.

In this way, he can see how Claude has guided him toward leadership. He can see now, the conversation that they'd had back in Fort Merceus, Claude saying _they're not wrong to believe in you_, Claude with his impossible belief and his friendly face and his manipulation, all this time, pulling at some strings to make this more palatable._ None of us asked for it_, he'd said sadly with the weight of someone who'd known just how much of a responsibility leadership was - and now, suddenly, Dimitri hates him for those words, for saying it when he _knew_ what he would be giving Dimitri this whole time.

The king of Fódlan. Claude is offering him _everything_. More power than any man or woman has had in hundreds of years. No - not offering, _giving_, a gift like this that nobody could ever - that _he_ could never -

“Don't mock me.”

Dimitri finally says and he wishes his voice sounded stronger. His heart wavers, held on a string pulled taut between closed fists, and he slowly raises his hands to his face, sinking into his fingers and dragging them up through his hair.

To anyone else, this would be the gift of a lifetime, of a hundred thousand lifetimes. To anyone else, what Claude is giving would be worldchanging. To Dimitri, it feels like a vice and Claude knows that. He was there when Dimitri got Rodrigue’s letter after Fort Merceus, and he _knows_ that.

He turns on Claude suddenly, betrayal finally winning out, evident in his face from the way he's choking back too much emotion, angry and sad and _lost_.

“-why couldn't you have found me five years ago?” Dimitri demands, louder. It's not fair, but then, none of this is fair. Giving him a crown isn't fair, leaving him to rule alone when he needs someone to stay his hand isn't fair, demanding that he be the person Claude thinks he is isn't _fair_. “Why couldn't you have told the _brat_ with all his formal training and all his naive ideas of justice that you would give this to him?”

His voice is trembling and he doesn't want the anger to give way into sadness and the fucking guilt, but it comes anyway.

“Why did you let them frame me? Why did you wait - until after I stained my hands with the blood of countless innocents, until after I killed that part of myself? The _boy_ you knew was just. The fool you knew would have been a fine king.”

He'd thought maybe, with Claude by his side then he could have recaptured Fhirdiad, with Gilbert and Rodrigue guiding him he could have even lead Faerghus. He'd accept his coronation with Claude near him, and the two of them could split Fódlan whichever way Claude desired. Together, with someone to support him... it was a difficult future to think about and something that he still had yet to accept fully, but thinks that maybe he could have, in time.

This? This is madness.

“I'm not him.”

He can’t believe he was so stupid as to blindly trust Claude this entire time. To think that Claude’s plans wouldn’t matter to him because he assumed that Claude would be selfish with the spoils of this war, as anyone would be.

Claude at least has the audacity to look hurt. He doesn’t speak to interrupt Dimitri, though Dimitri knows that he likely has a dozen arguments to support his actions. Instead, he just takes all the abuse that Dimitri throws at him and waits to make sure he’s done before he speaks quietly, his voice carefully even.

“I would never have let any of that happen to you if I'd known.”

That’s the only part that he protests against.

The rest - well. Claude steadies himself and keeps calm because _someone_ in this room has to. He had to have known that Dimitri wouldn’t react well to this revelation. He had to have known that this would happen.

“The man I know seeks recompense for the crimes done to him. The man I know understands the pain of betrayal, understands how valuable trust is and how easily it's lost. He understands the suffering of those without power.”

Dimitri looks away, his mouth twisted into a frown.

Claude doesn’t move to reach for him again and Dimitri’s fingers feel cold from where he’s pulled away. The shorter man continues, calm, almost rehearsed. “This land doesn't need the boy you were. It needs the man you are, Dimitri. The man who knows that naive ideas of justice aren't all that there are, but who wants the world to be just anyway.

“There's no one else who can do it. There is one king left in this land, and that's you. Whether you feel worthy or not, they will ask you to take the throne.”

And that - well, of course that's true. No matter what either of them say, it will remain true. When Edelgard is dead, Fódlan will be in disarray, and there will be a power vacuum. Dimitri, the man who will be King of Faerghus, who takes Edelgard's head, is the one everyone will look to.

Finally, Claude looks up. Finally, he meets Dimitri’s gaze and he looks more serious than he ever has in the entire time Dimitri has known him.

“I'm not mocking you, Dimitri. I would have you as Fódlan's king. As my king.”

_My king._

Dimitri snarls and wants to hit him suddenly. If Claude had told him this a few weeks ago, maybe he would have. But now something between them has changed and it's changed something inside of himself as well and so he holds himself back. The tension in him has nowhere else to bleed out of, and so he holds it in his shoulders, his fists, his teeth.

He doesn't want it. He doesn't _deserve_ it, he'll never earn it, and after everything he's done he would just lead this land to ruin again. His father tells him that, Glenn tells him that, he knows it's what Gilbert is thinking, he knows that Felix would rather see him in chains, that Sylvain will never forgive him and Dedue...

He thinks about Dedue. He thinks about Duscur and his promise to rebuild it, the only promise he'd ever made for when he was king. He thinks, just for a moment about what is _owed_ rather than what is deserved. 

Dimitri knows that Claude is right and that everyone will look to him to lead. They already are. He knows that he owes them a great deal, just like he owes Claude, just like he owes Dedue. And he knows that at one point he'd dreamed of a kingdom where all life was valued, where he could dismantle the oppressive power structures that had wrenched their way into this world and rebuild them.

Dimitri doesn't know if he can do such a thing anymore. Claude seems to think that he can, enough to stake the entire Alliance on it.

Then again, Claude risking everything for him should hardly come as a surprise at this point. He'd risked his own life the first time they spoke in that cell.

“You would be a better leader,” he says finally, disgust still drenching his tone, “you already are.” 

Even a child could see that Claude was more suited to the task than he is. He's still angry and he still feels like some sort of sick puppet: broken, made to suffer, and then rebuilt solely for the purpose of dancing on someone else's string.

Dimitri refocuses on Claude, the way he always seems so _genuine_ in a way that Dimitri regrets believing in. His warm eyes - stern now, as if he could convince Dimitri of this truth. His mouth that Dimitri now knows from the inside out. His hair that Dimitri now knows feels soft and warm and -

“Why the Alliance? I don't want it. You - you have to lead them. With me.”

Dimitri doesn't intend for that last part to come out and as soon as it does, he hates how vulnerable it sounds. _Don't leave me_, he'd begged the moment he first kissed him. The way he looked at him when he'd heard the Death Knight behind him. How he could do this, he'd thought, he _really_ had a chance to live to see his coronation to Faerghus with Claude by his side.

Dimitri wants to steel himself, but there's no steel left in his body. Now he just needs to know - it's only fair to tell him why he's going to be alone again. That way he can at least cut this part of himself out, as he's cut out the rest.

Claude looks away again, honesty weighing on his shoulders and making him just look tired. Without his smile, he looks so, so sad and Dimitri would want to reach for him if he wasn’t so angry, if he didn’t know the exact reason that Claude looks that way.

Is this a ruse too? Is this supposed to make it easier for Dimitri to go with his plans? He’d never have thought that earlier today, but now...

“I can't,” Claude finally chokes out. His voice is trembling and he wavers on a knife’s edge, his hands by his sides clenched tightly into fists. He can’t look at Dimitri. He can’t look at anything, it seems, and Dimitri wants to demand that he does, demand that he stop looking so mournful when this is entirely _his_ fault, but then he says it, a few short sentences that change everything:

“I was born in Almyra. My father is the king.”

Very little could cut through Dimitri's anger - he keeps it as a righteous fury, held close to his heart and uses it to lash out and defend himself, to hurt what hurts him, to protect anything he has. His anger is a barrier and it's a fortress, firm and vast and Claude's sudden admission pierces right through it as easily as an arrow.

Claude is the prince of Almyra.

Dimitri’s shoulders go slack, his hands falling to his sides.

Claude continues, looking up toward Dimitri, pleading now. “They've never trusted me here. The moment they know, the small amount of trust I have will be gone. I can lead now in a time of war, when no one cares. I can't lead in a time of peace, when those differences matter. I'll help you rebuild. I'll do all that I can, I'll stay by your side for as long as I can. But I can't lead. The nobles would revolt - all my work would be _meaningless_.”

While Claude makes his case, Dimitri has to catalogue everything he's heard of Almyra, which is a shockingly small amount. He knows vaguely of the political structure there, a bit about the culture, but nothing more. He'd been educated on all of Fódlan's geographical neighbors at a young age as is customary for a prince, but he hadn't needed to revisit that education since... well, before the Tragedy. Faerghus has had its own borders to concern itself with, and after the Tragedy those borders had grown even wider and introduced them to an entirely new host of problems.

Sadly, what he _does_ know is tinged in what he's always recognized to be some form of racism. He knows that some have referred to them as beasts, that the country is viewed as war-ready and dangerous - the same things that have been said about Duscur and he knows that to be false. The same things are muttered about Dagda, about Brigid. The same things that are said of every outsider who has ever conflicted with the church or the people of Fódlan.

So he doesn't know much. He doesn't even know what to _say_ to that, really - everything he knows of Claude has to reshuffle around to meet this new piece of information and it doesn't quite fit somehow, whether due to Claude's disposition or simply that it's too outlandish to believe.

But he has to, like he's believed everything else Claude has told him.

“Are you…” He doesn't even know how to say it, and he works around this new and strange fact with apprehension. Claude is - they're both princes. Claude has kept this a secret for so long and Dimitri knows why, but all this time he'd treated him... well, somewhat respectfully as the heir to the Riegan house, but he was a _duke_ then, and now he's - he's what? An equal? He'd always been that. But something about it shifts things between them, like a physical object that had always barred his vision of him had been moved and now Dimitri can see Claude for who he really is.

Dimitri takes a deep breath and tries again.

“...you're the heir?”

The true question is, of course, obvious. _Will you be king as well?_

For a moment, all of his own complaints and grievances are gone - while he hasn't forgotten or forgiven Claude's desire to make him king, the shock of this eclipses his anger for now and is a much more startling revelation, all things considered.

“I am. They don't trust me there, either.” Claude tries to smile, a wry thing, and Dimitri scoffs.

“Can you blame them?”

Just like that his smile fractures, and Dimitri would feel a pang of regret at lashing out in such a cruel way, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not with how much that Claude has been keeping from him.

“It isn’t - that’s not…” Claude stares at his lap and explains, quietly. “Almyra doesn't trust anyone with Fódlan blood. Fódlan doesn't trust anyone from Almyra. There was no easy way to win, from the moment I was born.”

It makes sense. If Dimitri could be sympathetic in that moment, he’d understand.

He can’t.

“So you lied to everyone.” Claude doesn’t look up and Dimitri feels the familiar comfort of anger brush against his heart again. “To _me_.”

Claude doesn’t protest - though on further reflection, Dimitri supposes that he’s never actually _lied_. But what would constitute as lying? Who walks around saying _I’m not the prince of Almyra and I’m not going to step down and make you the king of this entire country_?

Dimitri feels a dark wave of emotion bubble up in his throat and he thought it was anger, he thought it was the familiar rage of betrayal, but instead it’s - it’s something else entirely.

“I asked you to stay with me.”

Claude looks up, biting his lip. “I told you - for as long as you need me, I’ll - “

“I need you longer,” Dimitri grits out, taking a step closer to him, “you said you were _mine_.”

Claude recoils as if Dimitri really _has_ struck him. This time, Dimitri feels pity in his heart. Not for the man who lied to him, but for the boy who knew that if he was honest, people would hate him. For the boy who tried to protect himself and only wound up breaking his own heart.

It's coming together now, the smaller pieces are starting to make sense. Claude coming from nowhere, all the rumors, Claude's apparent disinterest for ruling. Why Claude wants him on the throne but refuses to take it for himself.

Claude saved him. Claude brought him back from the edge. And _conveniently_, Dimitri has the best claim to the throne in all of Fódlan. It's the perfect way to save an old friend while restoring a power structure that Dimitri now knows that Claude could never have participated in, not without creating some dark accusations and possibly even another war.

So then it's... being a good neighbor? Doing all of this, this mountain of work and toil because he wants to help? Dimitri is a smart man when he's not on a rampage and he's capable of seeing things like this for what they really are, but in Claude's case, what could it be but genuine?

“...why would you stay in the first place?” he finally asks. Better to hear it from him now, to be sure. “You've been working for the past five years to give everything to someone else. You could have left and put this war behind you.”

If Claude left back then the Alliance likely would have sided with the Empire. They would have crushed Faerghus together and no one Dimitri loves would have survived. Dimitri thought that he owed Claude enough already, but this - what he's been selflessly working on all this time - this is something that he'll never be able to fully repay.

“My mother really is Duke Riegan's daughter. This place is my home, too.” Claude speaks softly but flatly, as if he’s in a trance. Dimitri can’t really blame him - this is likely the first time he’s ever told anyone in Fódlan the truth about his birth. “I'm not going to just abandon Fódlan. The commoners here didn't choose this war - most of the _nobles_ didn't even choose it. They don't deserve to suffer under whatever rule Edelgard wants to impose.”

When put like that, it makes some sort of sense. Claude doesn’t benefit from staying in a place he could never rule… but then, he’s not doing this for his own benefit anyway. Like this, Dimitri can see the threads that Claude has woven, both noble and underhanded. All to do what he thinks is best, regardless, Dimitri thinks darkly, of who gets hurt in the process.

Even if that person is Dimitri. Even if that person is Claude himself.

“And - I want, someday,” Claude continues, as long as he’s coming clean, “for Fódlan to be able to open its borders. For Fódlan and Almyra to meet in peace rather than through border skirmishes and anger. That will never be possible if Fódlan is destroyed or if it’s constantly in a civil war.”

So it is some sense of altruism. Claude could have easily left, Dimitri thinks - and maybe a saner man would have. Dimitri considers Claude's goals for a moment and thinks about how nice of a world that might be. With less hostile borders, he could ensure times of peace and equality and justice for both of their nations, where they could share their riches and support one another's deficits.

It was a dream that his father had, he remembers distantly, for Faerghus and Duscur. Dimitri remembers painfully little about King Lambert, the real one, but he _does_ remember the gentle speeches he'd been given about fostering peace between nations and offering an open palm instead of a fist. At the time, Dimitri had been more concerned with something else, some horseback riding or music lesson he wanted to do, something absolutely insignificant, but he remembers Lambert's voice.

Lambert would have liked Claude, Dimitri thinks, and it hurts all over again.

“So…. you entrust Fódlan to me and then go back to Almyra,” Dimitri works out, speaking a little slow as it all comes together, “you have your coronation. And then... then you reach a hand out to me from over the border.”

It's... difficult, not to still feel used. It's difficult to understand how convenient this all came together for Claude, and to still feel like Claude's friendship or his attachment or his _attraction_ to Dimitri is a mere coincidence when it's so damningly convenient for him. It doesn't feel malicious when he really thinks about it, but it makes it all seem less genuine.

How could Claude's friendliness not be motivated in some way by the position that Dimitri played in his plans? How could his long and dangerous attempts to gain Dimitri's trust not have been in some small part due to his bloodline? And... can Dimitri really blame him for that, knowing what Claude wants and where his heart is?

“You…” It's soft, it hurts. “...you couldn't do this any other way? You had to - with me, you had to-”

He doesn't even know what to call it. Dimitri doesn't believe it was a lie, but he also can't believe in coincidences this big and he doesn't believe anymore that Claude brought him out of the darkness just out of nostalgia and love for him. It's a selfless reason that Claude has done this and so maybe he shouldn't feel so betrayed by it. It's for the greater good, it's for a noble and just cause, it's for everything that Dimitri once stood for... but he was naive and foolish to even think that this could have been solely for him.

How could he have thought something like that? It's bloodlines and politics and crests. Even Sylvain would have known better.

“You kissed me.”

Dimitri doesn't mean for it to sound like an accusation - but somehow, it still does.

Claude looks at Dimitri for a long moment, taking in the hurt in his voice, the softness in his eye. He looks, Dimitri realizes, absolutely miserable. Not the kind of misery that comes from being caught in a lie, but the kind that comes from being trapped in a world where no one will ever believe you.

“I did.” His voice is soft, fragile. “I don't expect you to believe me. But I kissed you because I wanted to.”

He looks away, looks at one of his many stacks of books, not really seeing them.

“When we captured you I thought, ‘If I can get him on stable ground, he could be king’. I thought it would be a simple thing, because I remembered the boy you were. Then when I visited you I realized everything had been much worse than I'd known. You were so different - but you were still _you_. I couldn't see you like that and not want to help.

“And I... got attached. I wanted you to be king, yes, I always planned that. But the rest wasn't planned. Why would I plan to want your friendship, to want you, if all I wanted to do was use you? I'm not... I don't do that, Dimitri. I manipulate, yes, and I scheme, but I don't use people like that. I'm not what they think I am.’

Claude spits out that last part, resentful, but not at Dimitri. At himself maybe, at the kind of person he’s had to be and how it makes Dimitri see him. At the world for giving him no other choice but to be this way.

“I care about you. I'm probably in love with you.” Claude says it quickly, like he’s not thinking about it, like he’s too emotional to really care about how he sounds, to carefully pick and choose his words, “I told you before, I can give you a list of the things I like about you, and none of them are 'because I can force him to become king'. You don't have to believe me - I won't blame you if you don't. But you should know that.

“You don't owe me anything. I'll support you whether or not you want to be with me. You have my friendship, always.”

That’s… that’s a lot.

Dimitri nods slowly, still not meeting Claude's eyes or even really looking at him. It's all too much to process, from _he could be king_ to _I'm probably in love with you_. 

In love.

Dimitri raises a hand to press against his mouth as it wells up within him and he just... he doesn't know if anyone else alive will ever say that to him. He hasn’t thought that anyone _could_ love him again, or - or that he could feel something like that, and... and his thoughts stumble together one after another and for a brief hysterical moment, Dimitri thanks the goddess that Claude _isn't_ malicious because Dimitri suddenly has an acute understanding of how easily he could be manipulated just by hearing something like that.

He breathes into his palm, his fingers gripping at his cheek and tries not to laugh because it would be inappropriate but also he feels like he's going insane all over again - his emotions vault everywhere between betrayal and a sudden desire to return the sentiment and feeling like he doesn't deserve this or feeling like he wants to finally push Claude against the bed and _stop_ with this political talk already, and he wants to - he wants to do _so_ many things that he's overloaded with it and he feels like he's going to fly out of his skin.

He needs to get a grip. He needs to focus. He needs to - could he love Claude back? Is he even capable of such a thing? Earlier today, he thought he maybe could have been, earlier today he was begging Claude not to leave him and now he wants to beg Claude for so many more things.

He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to even think about how he can respond to that - any of that, not just the casual confession, but the rest of Claude's story. He doesn't know where to start. He doesn't know _how_ to start.

Claude intends for him to be king of Fódlan. Claude is the Almyran prince. Claude wants peace between their nations.

Claude might be in love with him.

Dimitri closes his eye but all he sees is Claude reaching a hand to him, Claude's fingers against his hair, Claude smiling at him in that open and kind way of his. Claude talking to him in the cell. Claude bandaging his wounds. Acting like the voices Dimitri hears are okay. Taking him to war councils. Hugging him when he needed to lead again. Opening his gates to the Kingdom Loyalists. Reaching for him when he turned to face the Death Knight.

“...I can’t do this.”

It's too much and he doesn't know how to process it, doesn’t even know if he can move through it right now, but if he doesn't do it soon then he'll have to do it when Edelgard is dead within the month and then the stakes will be so much higher, and Claude will _leave_, and... 

He can't think about all of this while standing next to Claude's bed, with Claude watching him and waiting for him to say something. He needs to figure out how he feels about Claude’s plans for him, to figure out what he wants - let alone rationalize why he _should_ have it, undeserving as he is.

He takes a deep breath. It's better that it's all out in the open now, he supposes - though Dimitri doesn't think he's uncovered even half of Claude's secrets yet.

That thought frightens him. Looking at Claude frightens him. Thinking about the next three weeks frightens him.

“I need... time.”

Dimitri manages to grit it out, hoping that it will be enough, that Claude will understand that he’s just put an enormous weight in Dimitri’s lap and maybe he didn’t intend to when they planned to meet up tonight, but this is what happened. It’s for the best, Dimitri thinks, that he found out before they got too far into this. It would have been for the best if it had happened before Claude kissed him, but - well, this is where they are.

Claude nods, rejected, looking acutely like he’s just offered Dimitri his heart at the worst possible time and had it refused. To his merit, he pulls himself together admirably quickly and moves to stand.

“I’m sorry. I told you, you don't owe me anything.” Claude tries another smile, tries to be flippant, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don't even owe me an answer.”

“I do.” Dimitri says it quietly, quickly, offering just the smallest argument to Claude's uncharacteristic defeatism. It would be unfair to expect an answer from Dimitri now, but he can see how he's disappointed him all the same, and it hurts to have done so. 

“And I will give you one.”

It's a promise, and Dimitri is loyal and genuine and when he makes a promise he always intends to keep it. Even if this discussion keeps him up for the rest of the night, the rest of the week - he'll give Claude his answer. Claude deserves that much and so much more, so much that Dimitri desperately wishes that he could be able to give him.

Maybe someday, he will.

Dimitri turns to go then, moving toward the door and this feels so impersonal, so _different_ than how he felt when he first walked in and they'd kissed and Claude had complimented him in a way that made him feel... embarrassed, elated, adored. He wants to feel that way again. He wants to make Claude feel that way. 

But Claude is the prince of Almyra and Dimitri is to be king of Fódlan and their paths have been set since Claude first put him in that cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again everyone for all of your continued support! The two of us are currently in the midst of typhoon Hagibis (what a great vacation amirite) but our otp is stronger than a [checks] category 4 hurricane. :o
> 
> I added a rough end chapter estimate to the fic - from what we've plotted, it's more or less accurate, but we could go a bit over. Just so everyone knows!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected arrival, and both Dimitri and Claude have a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! We survived the typhoon but were laid low by jet lag. Hopefully this makes up for that, even a little. ♥

Two mornings later, a lone figure makes its way up the lonely cobblestone road leading to the gates of Garreg Mach. The figure is hooded, a blue patterned scarf wrapped around their face, covered from head to toe in heavy armor that they carry as if it weighs nothing at all. 

The archers stationed on the ramparts of the monastery stand at attention while the figure approaches, half-draw their bows in apprehension, but don't make a move to loose them yet. The captain stands, his hand up and clenched into a fist indicating _hold_ as a ground soldier opens a small door to the left of the giant gate and strides out, confident, sure-footed, particularly with his hand on his sword belt and a dozen archers ready to strike. 

"State your purpose," he commands, fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. 

The person - a man, it's obvious now - reaches up with an unarmed hand to tug the scarf down over his face, revealing darker skin, a smattering of pale facial hair, and scarred lips.

"I'm here for his highness."

-

Dimitri meant what he said that night - every word of it, even though in retrospect he thinks that he could have phrased it a little better.

Still, almost two days later and little has changed. His thoughts whirl and he tells no one of what transpired between them or what Claude had told him. Who would he tell? The others may want to plan for Dimitri suddenly ruling all of Fódlan, but he doesn't feel the need to grace them with that information when he's still unsure if he's capable of accepting such an offer in the first place. So he keeps Claude's secrets for as long as he can, even though they distract him at all points throughout the day, enough to where the others have taken notice and asked him about it - _have you had enough sleep, do you need something to eat, what's wrong? _\- and Dimitri never knows what to say.

His introspection is suddenly cut short partway through an early evening training session. Dimitri slashes upright at Felix with his training lance, his teeth grit as the wood narrowly misses scraping down Felix's face. The shorter man dodges it, dances around the tip of the spear gracefully, and Annette's squealing voice rings out like a piercing cry in his ears.

_"Dedue!"_

Dimitri turns and Felix scores a hit on his side, meaningless. The training lance falls to the ground, followed shortly by Felix's training sword. 

Annette rushes past him from where she'd been practicing her magic with Mercedes, followed shortly by Mercedes herself. Sylvain moves too, but Dimitri stays rooted to the spot. He sees him, a mountain of a man standing at the gate of the training area still with his bags at his shoulder, his well-worn armor around him. 

"Dimitri said you were dead!" Annette tells him, reaching for his hand, pulling him along by it so that the others can surround him happily, "I thought - oh Dedue, I'm so happy!" 

Sylvain is laughing, clapping him on his shoulder, Mercedes stays a few feet away with a cheery smile, even Ingrid seems to be elated at his return, and Dimitri just stares, as if he cannot quite comprehend what he's seeing.

"So," Felix starts from where he hasn't moved behind Dimitri, reaching to pick up his sword, "the dog has come to heel to his master's side once again. Good. I was getting tired of babysitting you."

Dimitri doesn't respond - he's used to Felix's barbed words by now.

Dedue is too far away to have heard Felix and smiles at Annette's joy, curling his fingers around her hands with a nod.

"I am not surprised his highness thought that," he says and oh, his voice is so different than the voices that berate Dimitri, it's softer, gentler, and when Dedue looks up over Annette's shoulder and meets his eyes, he seems altogether a different man than the person who plagues him at night. "When we last saw one another, I was certain of my own death as well. It is only due to my fellow countrymen that I survived." 

There's a bit more chatter, more '_I'm so happy to see you_' and '_where have you been all this time_,' but by the time that Dedue starts looking uncomfortable at the constant attention, Dimitri has come to some sort of grips with himself and moves forward. 

The other Lions part like water around them, offering a path between the two men that both Dimitri and Dedue move for, until they finally meet one another and Dimitri stands face to face with his vassal and protector for the first time since Dedue threw his life away to save him, years ago. 

It's... hard to believe that this is real. It's hard to believe that the Dedue who berated him, who asked him why he let him die - well, _isn't_. Dimitri doesn't know how to reconcile the man in his head with the man before him and he's lost, for a moment in the implication that the voice he's heard for years may never have been real at all. 

Dimitri reaches a hand out, tentative and unsure because Annette can see Dedue, Felix can see him, and if he can _touch_ him -

Dedue seems to understand without needing to be told and he catches Dimitri's shaky fingers in a warm, gloved hand. Real. Solid.

"I apologize it's taken me so long to find you," Dedue says, stalwart as ever, but there's a trace of a relieved smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "when I heard about your slaying the Death Knight, I was far North of here. It took me some time to discover that you were traveling with the Alliance, and that Claude had stationed them at Garreg Mach."

"That's - that's alright," Dimitri manages to say to him finally, looking him over. The last time he'd seen Dedue, it was with a mass of Imperial guards between them both, Dedue's words fresh in his mind, _go, please - _ an arrow in his bicep, a sword slash at his side, and what felt like an eternity of bodies between them both. 

Dimitri had turned away from him to run. He has regretted it for years. Dedue has screamed at him for it in the dark of the night, has been so angry and so sad and Dimitri has devoted himself to avenging this loss, but if he hadn’t lost it after all…

“...how did you survive?” he asks finally, once he can find the words.

The rest of the Lions draw in a little closer, wanting to hear, save for Felix who picks up his sword and resumes training by himself.

Dedue’s story isn’t particularly gripping, but Dimitri finds that it’s good for him to listen to it all the same. The training is done for the day anyway, and so when Annette quietly suggests that they retire to the dining hall for the rest of the story, everyone agrees and off they go.

Dimitri… can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop reaching for him, as if touching his shoulder is the only way to reassure himself that Dedue is real. Can’t stop glancing at their friends to see them staring at Dedue and ensure that they can see him too and can hear what he’s saying.

None of it feels particularly real, but after a few more hours of reminiscing, when Annette falls asleep on Mercedes’ shoulder and Sylvain and Ashe retire for the night, Dimitri is starting to believe that this might not be a dream. He doesn’t leave with the others. He feels like leaving Dedue’s side at all would be a mistake, after what happened last time.

It’s well into the late hours of the evening, when everyone else has left, that Dedue looks at him, his gaze piercing.

“You’ve changed,” he says in that calm, acknowledging way of his. Dimitri’s brows furrow in response, but he’s not sure what to say to that. Dedue has seen him at his worst, he knows of the things that haunt him - of course he’d see that Dimitri is different.

“I…” he starts, then stops, then tries again. “Much has happened since you - since we parted.”

That much, Dedue knows. He nods, sympathetic, and moves to stand, his armor creaking where it bumps against the dinner table. Dimitri feels a pang of guilt for not insisting that he change out of it earlier, to go to his rooms and unpack and relax, but the excitement of their friends and Dedue’s calm and measured way of storytelling was too engaging for him to really think of it.

“I don’t doubt it.” Now standing, Dedue watches him for a long moment, cataloguing the newness of him - his height, his hair, the dark armor. Eventually, the taller man’s hand lifts up to brush the fringe of Dimitri’s hair aside, frowning as he looks over his darkened eyepatch. “This is new.”

Dimitri pulls back, letting out a scoff and shaking his head as he turns to leave, with Dedue in tow, always behind him, as if they were boys again and Dedue was loyally following him back to their dorms, where they would part on the first floor and Dimitri would think nothing more of it, of Dedue’s unwavering loyalty and how it would get him killed one day -

“Old. It happened years ago. I don’t remember what it was.”

“I see.”

And then there’s a long pause, almost uncomfortable as they move into the cool night air. Dimitri looks up toward the moon, bathing the monastery in light while the stars burn almost as brightly beside it. It’s a good night, clear and not too cold and Dimitri stands on the edge of the balcony just outside the dining hall and looks over the lake, his arms folded across his chest.

From behind him, Dedue speaks again, dutiful and... meek?

“...Claude is new as well.”

That manages to tease a laugh out of him, though it ends with a wince rather than a smile. Dedue always seems to know how to prod at the one thing that bothers him more than anything else.

“Newer than my eyepatch, anyway.” Dimitri sighs and tries to work out what to say, how to say it in a way that won’t give himself away. Not that he wants to keep anything from Dedue, but - but some things don’t need to be said quite yet. Not when he’s still asking Claude for _time_.

“He… captured me after we fought at Gronder Field,” Dimitri explains, and can’t help but to glance off in the direction of the cellars, where he was held. “He wanted me to help him. He took me as his ally and we took Fort Merceus together.”

“Where you faced the Death Knight.”

Dimitri nods, thinking back on it. Has it only been a few weeks since then? It feels like longer, particularly now that so much has unraveled between himself and Claude, now that Dedue is with him. He remembers the sick feeling of anticipation, his miserable glee as blood had stained his hands again and he knows it’s not over yet, there’s still Enbarr, there’s still Edelgard…

“Claude was struck down behind enemy lines. I saved him.” And that’s… a point of pride maybe, that’s Dimitri knowing that he did something right, even if he couldn’t save anyone else, Claude still draws breath because of him, no matter how much he’s ruined the other man since.

“Of course you did,” Dedue murmurs quietly, encouragingly, and moves to stand beside him, to follow his gaze out toward the lake, “you’re a good man.”

Dimitri closes his eye at the words. _A good man_. If Dedue only knew the half of it…

But the thing is, he does. He’s always known Dimitri more than anyone else and he’s never willingly left his side. If Dedue can still stand by him, can still say those things after everything that Dimitri has done, then… maybe he could be a good man. Maybe he could even be a good king.

With Dedue alive, Dimitri’s childhood promise to him flares up in his gut and rekindles something warm inside of him. He said he’d rebuild Duscur. If he does nothing else, he must do that, for the dead and for the living. It’s why Dedue follows him, it’s why Dedue will risk everything for him.

“Claude said the same,” Dimitri says on a sigh.

There’s a pause, in which Dimitri realizes that he’s brought up Claude in the conversation _again_ and he knows that Dedue is smart enough to catch it, knows that Dedue is already considering his odd alliance with him.

Still, when Dedue responds, the tone is just as even and measured as everything he’d said before.

“You seem to hold him in high regard.”

Dimitri doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. It’s true, uncomfortably so, but it stings, coming so close after his confrontation with Claude in his room. He’s still _angry_ with him, but Dedue’s arrival has pushed that into the back of his mind temporarily, and beneath it all he just - it’s - he can’t really identify what it is that he feels, but it aches like a loss.

Dimitri, who knows loss more intimately than most, can’t seem to parse why this feels like it and why he can’t seem to let it go.

He knows and respects Dedue, but he also has enough regard for Claude that Dimitri won’t give away all of his secrets. Certainly, he can say some things to him and he intends to confide in the larger man just as they had done in their Academy days, but there are other things that he feels he must hold close to his chest until he can figure out what to do about them.

So he doesn’t respond for a long while and realizes that his silence likely speaks more volumes than any words he can say.

“...he has given me a path to Edelgard,” Dimitri finally says simply, and then continues, his jaw set tight, “and I intend to take it.”

“And after?”

Dedue’s voice is soft but not demanding. Dimitri knows what he wants, even after all these years. He knows that he must rise to it, he knows that his promises to the living must be fulfilled, just as his promises to the dead.

He turns toward his vassal, his shoulders square, and nods.

“After, I claim my birthright and take the throne of Faerghus. I retake Fhirdiad, I rebuild Duscur. Nothing else matters.”

Dedue is stoic and unexpressive but Dimitri still knows him well enough after all these years to see relief crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Still, all he does is nod gratefully and Dimitri realizes that this is the first time he’s said it, _take the throne_, and finds that he means it. He’ll be king of Faerghus, he’s spent the last few weeks preparing himself for that much.

The rest of the continent? He’s not so sure. But this much - this much, he can do.

"You know I will be behind you every step of the way. Our time apart has not changed my pledge."

This time, it's Dimitri's turn for a moment of relief. He thinks, wildly, that if this man before him knew what his voice had said to Dimitri all these years, he'd cut his own tongue out. 

Still. Dimitri falters, remembering Claude's plan for him, remembering his own reluctance. Dedue's loyalty is a gift he could never ask for and would never earn, much like the loyalty of everyone else around him, much like what Claude has been trying to give him. 

Dedue senses the change in him but says nothing and Dimitri lets it linger for a long few moments before sighing.

"I feel that I can never be the man they need me to be - that you think I am. I've stained my hands with blood, I've become a tool for the dead. Maybe… maybe years ago when I could remember my father's face, but now…" He trails off, unsure, his voice just a low whisper and Dedue says nothing and Dimitri has to look up just to ensure he's still there. He is - isn't he? 

He looks solid but Dimitri is afraid to touch him. There are shapes behind him which seem just as solid, shapes that he knows can't be there. Has this all been a dream? Did he imagine Annette talking to Dedue? Has he been walking through the halls conversing with a dead man again?

"I'm afraid," he chokes out, teeth gritting, "that when I close my eyes, you'll be gone. I've seen you - so many times, and you were never there. And now, you've crawled out of the grave to guide me back to a crown I'll never deserve. I can't avenge you and take the throne both. It will destroy me to see this through."

There's a glimmer of a shadow on Dedue's face. It stretches and shifts, pulling him into the darkness and Dimitri's heart trembles with the dawning knowledge that he hasn't actually been real at all.

"Then don't," Dedue says, his voice lost to the wind as his body flickers, shimmers, and the darkness overtakes him, "if I had died, I would not want you to seek your grave next to mine in the name of avenging me. I would want you to live the life I died for: the life of a king, of the man who will bring peace to this nation, of -" 

Dedue is cut off as Dimitri flails a hand forward blindly and strikes at the plating on his chest. Solid enough to bruise his knuckles.

" - your highness?"

Silvery steel spirals out from where he'd struck and Dimitri blinks away the vision, finds that the darkness shrouding Dedue had been only in his mind, which clears itself when he’s made contact. Elation and dread ripple together in Dimitri's chest: Dedue is _actually_ real, and he's losing his mind. Maybe he’s lost it a long time ago.

"...it's nothing," he murmurs, trying to calm himself, to stop his heart from pounding. He swallows bile in his throat and sets his jaw tight, forcing himself to look up toward his vassal. "Forgive me. I appreciate you telling me this. It seems I have much to consider."

“I understand,” Dedue says on a nod, always understanding, always enduring Dimitri’s strange fits like these.

There isn’t much else to say. They retire and Dimitri walks Dedue to his door, lingers outside of it after Dedue has gone in, questions if any of this was real or if it was just some strange fever dream. 

He hasn’t had any hallucinations this severe in weeks - a few months even, but he knows it’s possible. Now that he’s starting to recover, he can begin to understand the depths that his mind has gone to and it’s frightening to think that he was ever in such a state. To think that he could fall into such a state again.

But he touched him. He felt _so_ solid. Annette spoke to him, Felix talked about him. He’s there. He has to be. Dimitri finds himself pacing for the better part of the night, reminding himself of the facts, reminding himself of what Dedue (it was Dedue, it _was_) had said to him.

The next morning finds Dedue outside of the dormitories waiting for him, just as he’d done years ago. Dimitri lets out a long breath, clasps a hand at his shoulder again (real, real, real), and the two of them make their way to the dining hall and to the rest of their day.

_

The work of waging a war is never-ending - which, in this case, Claude finds himself somewhat grateful for. It’s only possible to beat yourself up over your mistakes for so long when there’s always another commander requiring your input, another noble needing your undivided attention. It means that Claude doesn’t have time to be consumed with regret - or it would, perhaps, except that Claude seems to be very good at emotionally multitasking.

As it turns out, he’s perfectly capable of regretting his conversation with Dimitri _while_ engaged in a long discussion over their logistics of sending a troop of pegasus knights to support the Bridge of Myrddin. He even finds it impossible to keep from remembering Dimitri’s mouth on his while reading a scout’s report on Imperial troop movements.

Claude doesn’t let it distract him, at least. He can’t do that, he can’t afford to. All of Fódlan’s fate could end up resting on a single decision, one that he won’t even know until it’s over, and Claude will not let his foolish emotions endanger what he’s trying to do here. 

What they’re _all_ trying to do here.

So it ends up feeling like a gentle, self-inflicted sort of torture. He sees Dimitri, of course. They are fighting this war together, they see each other in the council room and in the halls of the monastery. Claude tries to give him space, give him time, treat him with the politeness and care of a fellow commander and a friend, but naturally it isn’t that easy.

_Are_ they friends, still? Or has Claude managed to ruin that with his honesty?

It needed to be done. Claude believes that still, through all the regret. He wanted, _wants_ Dimitri so badly, and after the training ground - after those kisses, Dimitri’s mouth on his, hungry and warm and _perfect_, Claude knows there was nothing else to be done.

Dimitri has been through enough. Claude could not let things progress without some kind of honesty. He didn’t plan it, exactly, but - well, Dimitri may think he’s manipulative now, may think he’s untrustworthy and a liar, but if Claude had kept everything from him then he would have thought that of _himself_.

Dimitri deserved the truth, and Claude gave it, and he doesn’t regret that.

What he regrets, he supposes, is the necessity of making Dimitri king. Even if Dimitri hates it, even if he doesn’t want it, what Claude said will remain true: everyone will want it from it. Claude is no different, it’s only that perhaps he sees Dimitri more clearly.

Given time to heal, Dimitri could be a great king. Claude doesn’t think this because of his bloodlines or his upbringing, but because of his strength, his sense of justice, that hidden streak of kindness that makes him who he is.

Claude doesn’t regret wanting to make Dimitri king. He regrets forcing Dimitri to do something he doesn’t wish to do.

He meant it when he said that Dimitri didn’t owe him an answer, but he knows Dimitri’s honesty, his earnest nature. Likely he feels that he does owe Claude that, that he must find a way to respond to the things Claude has asked from him. So Claude gives him time and space, and if he finds himself missing the moments they spent together - well, that is only his fault, after all.

There are more things he regrets. Things he tries not to think of, things he should not have said.

Work helps a little. Not enough.

The monastery has adjusted quickly to the arrival of the Kingdom loyalists. Claude sees the former Blue Lions on the grounds, but rarely has the time or need to talk to them, though they were all reasonably pleased to see him again - and he them. But he hardly has time for even his own friends, and Dimitri is clearly still adjusting to their presence, and so Claude gives them all space.

Even so, he is naturally notified as soon as Dedue arrives at the gates. 

Claude ensures that Dimitri was notified, and then - well, then he gets back to work. He’s happy for Dimitri, ridiculously so, he remembers the guilt and pain that weighed him down when he spoke of Dedue. He remembers Dedue, a quiet shadow always at Dimitri’s side, and he wonders how things might have been different if Dedue had managed to remain there. Would he have been a stabilizing influence? Would Dimitri have descended so far without that final apparent death to spur him on?

But what-might-have-beens don’t really matter, in the end. Dedue is alive (a miracle, one Claude would very much like to know more about) and he knows that Dimitri’s emotions must be running high. He is glad, desperately glad that Dimitri has this, that his friend lives, that perhaps another piece of him can begin to heal.

He intends to speak to Dedue eventually, but there’s no rush. Claude believes it’s far more important for him to be with Dimitri, with the other Lions, his friends and allies who missed him like a limb. He expects to seek Dedue out in a few days, perhaps a week, and speak to him about his escape and his miraculous survival and - well, Dimitri.

He doesn’t expect Dedue to seek him out, instead. Later he thinks that was a bit foolish of him. Claude is, for all intents and purposes, the lord and commander here at Garreg Mach, even if politics would technically say that Dimitri (as king-in-exile of Faerghus) is above him. He is sheltering Dimitri, so he is lord here, and so Dedue - proper, serious Dedue - seeks him out.

He comes to Claude during one of the rare times Claude is alone, poring over maps and troop movements in the council room. Claude looks up from his work as the door opens, expecting an Alliance noble or another report from a scout, or perhaps one of his Golden Deer. Instead it’s Dedue, standing in the doorway, tall and familiar.

Claude looks at him for a moment, noticing the changes - the hair, the scars, the air of weariness. They all seem to have it these days, it’s one of the costs of fighting this war, but Dedue carries it more heavily than most. And he would, wouldn’t he? Undoubtedly, he’s been through a lot.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Dedue says, his voice low but enough to carry across the room to Claude.

“No,” Claude says, “not at all. Come in.”

He stands and comes around the table, intending to greet Dedue with a clasp of hands, to welcome him as a friend and ally. Instead, when he is only a stride or two away, Dedue kneels.

He does it with a grace that Claude feels ought to be incongruous, but suits him perfectly. He rests an arm on his knee and lowers his head, deeply respectful, and Claude stops in his tracks.

Claude is treated with respect, as the leader of the Alliance and commander of its armies, but this kind of thing isn’t common - to say the least. The constant change, the push and pull of Alliance politics, means that while Claude is treated with respect, he is not treated as their liege lord. He never has been, not by anyone.

He’s not sure it sits well with him. Even stranger, he’s not sure it _doesn’t_. Part of Claude wants to laugh, to act as casual with Dedue as he would have with any student at the Academy, but something stops him. He says nothing, because he doesn’t know what to say.

“Claude von Riegan,” Dedue says, “I wish to express my deepest gratitude for all that you have done for my lord.”

And perhaps Claude ought to have expected that. He opens his mouth to say something - there is some impulse to laugh it off, to say thanks are unnecessary - but Dedue isn’t finished yet.

“I believe that your actions saved his life, and perhaps more than that.” Dedue raises his head, meeting Claude’s uncertain gaze. “I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid. Nevertheless, I will endeavor to do so in whatever way is within my power.”

He falls silent then, looking at Claude, and Claude still doesn’t know what to say.

“You can stand,” he says finally, summoning his usual smile. “And I’m gonna say it now, even though I know it won’t change anything - you don’t owe me any debt, Dedue.”

“You are correct,” Dedue says, though he does stand, slowly and with some weariness. “It changes nothing.” 

“Ah well. I had to try.” Claude gestures to the pitcher and glasses on the table. “Take a drink with me? I’m afraid I’ve only got water right now.”

Dedue looks at him for a long, silent moment, and then nods. “I would like that.”

Claude pours them both water, and Dedue sits, and Claude considers him.

“We didn’t talk much at school,” Claude says, an obvious fact. Dedue didn’t talk to that many people outside his house. They exchanged polite greetings, little more. Dedue was always an interesting puzzle, but Claude never had the time to devote to solving him. He doesn’t now, either, he knows.

“We didn’t,” Dedue acknowledges.

“Maybe we should have. Two outsiders,” Claude says, and smiles. “We could have helped each other out.” But Dedue had always had Dimitri, and - in some ways, Claude is envious of that. Back then, he didn’t think he needed anyone, and maybe to some extent he still thinks that, but he can’t help but wonder how different things might have been if he’d had anyone who had accepted him as easily and completely as Dimitri accepted Dedue.

At least, he thinks, he can be certain Dimitri’s rejection wasn’t because of his Almyran blood. At least there’s that. Dimitri, for all that he is, for all that he’s become, has never been the sort to hate people simply for what they are.

It’s a rarer quality than people would like to believe. Claude knows that well.

“If we had been friends back then, there would have been rumors about you,” Dedue says, calm and practical.

And - that’s true. There were already so many things said about Claude, and surely more that he never learned about. He didn’t avoid Dedue because of that, but it’s entirely possible things would have been even more difficult if they’d been known to spend time together. Claude knows well the things people say about the folk of Duscur.

“I love it when people spread rumors about me,” Claude grins. “Anyway, the past is the past. We can be friends now, I hope.”

Dedue eyes him, and Claude thinks he may see some suspicion there. He wonders what Dimitri might have said to him, but dismisses that quickly. Dimitri would not share Claude’s secrets - Claude knows that. He trusts that, completely. But some of the things Claude said to him aren’t secrets at all.

“I want your help with this war, of course. But I want more than that.” Claude leans forward, eyes steady on Dedue. “I want your help when it’s over. I want to change this place - I want it to be somewhere that people like us can live without being hated. Without being treated differently.”

“That won’t be easy,” says Dedue, a vast understatement.

“I know. But whatever happens - with the war, afterward - I think your help will be vital. You’re from Duscur, and you’re the right hand of the King of Faerghus.” Claude is serious, then. “I’m sure you know I want Dimitri to be king of all Fódlan.”

Even if Dimitri didn’t tell Dedue that already, Claude doubts it will come as a surprise. Who else but Dimitri? Claude is the only other possible choice, and that’s never been where his ambitions lie.

“I know you will be by his side. All I ask is that you help him reach out - to Duscur, to Brigid, to Almyra. Dagda, Sreng - we need to break down the barriers between Fódlan and the rest of the world. You, of all people, can help with that.” A man from a hated people, treated as a trusted friend and vassal by the king? Simply Dedue’s existence alone will help with that.

And if Claude could be by his side as well -

But of course that’s not worth thinking about. 

“I understand what you’re asking,” Dedue says, slow and careful. “But you don’t need me for that. Dimitri wants the same thing.”

Claude nods. “I know he does. But he hasn’t lived it the way you have. There are things he might miss, things he might not understand.” He looks down at his glass of water, untouched. He wishes it were wine. “And I know that, in truth, I don’t need to ask this. You will help him whether I ask it or not. But I _am_ asking.”

“I will,” Dedue says. “You know that I will. You know, also, that he doesn’t want to rule Fódlan.”

“I know,” Claude says, summoning a smile to his face again, trying not to think about all the words he and Dimitri exchanged. “And if he decides he won’t be, well, I’ll figure something else out. But Fódlan is never going to let him retire to a normal life, even if he doesn’t want to rule - and for all that Dimitri may not want it, he is a kind man, and he feels responsible for his land and for the people he cares for. Perhaps now he feels that is only Faerghus, but I believe he won't be able to stand by idly after this is all over.”

He doesn’t mention the alternative: that Dimitri may not survive this. He doesn’t mention it because he doesn’t particularly want to think about it. He _has_, of course - Claude hasn’t gotten where he is by not considering every possibility - but Dimitri’s death is not something he wants to dwell on for long.

Dedue, always quiet, is watching him with those rather too perceptive eyes. “You think well of him.”

Claude laughs. “That’s no surprise, right?”

Dedue shakes his head, and there may be the faintest shadow of a smile on his lips. Or Claude could just be imagining it.

“Well, until then,” Claude says, gaze returning to the papers arrayed before him, “I know you don’t need me to ask this of you either, but... please take care of him.”

It feels strange, asking that. It feels strange to think that _Claude_ is the one who has been doing that. It feels strange to have the sensation that he is giving up something. 

Dimitri was never his.

He smiles at Dedue, because that’s the easiest thing to do, and it’s rather a comfort to know that Dedue absolutely does not know him well enough to be able to tell it’s fake.

“I won’t keep you. I’m sure he’ll want you near him until he’s reassured himself you’re real.”

At that, Dedue stands. Claude expects a nod - what he gets is a bow, not as low as the first one, but respectful and true. Then Dedue leaves, and Claude is alone again.

He spends some time with his eyes on the door, thinking, before getting back to work.

-

It’s a couple nights later that Hilda knocks on his door. 

It’s not much of a surprise. He had a meeting with her and a couple of the other Alliance nobles about increasing the supplies they were sending, now that their forces had grown with the addition of Dimitri’s loyalists. It had gone about as well as could be expected, which means the shouting died down after only thirty minutes or so and Claude had only endured a few muttered aspersions on his parenthood.

They’d gotten the supplies, which is what really matters, thanks in part to Hilda’s genius with men who think they knew better than her. Somehow she always manages to turn their condescension into assistance, a feat which Claude greatly admires.

She waits for his response, which is a bit of a surprise, since he knows she can see the light under his door. Where else would he be? But as soon as he calls for her to come in, she’s pushing the door open, a smile on her face and bottle of wine in her hand.

“Oh, perfect,” Claude says, and retrieves a pair of goblets from his desk. It takes some looking - they’re on their sides, underneath a stack of maps - but he knows they’re clean.

“Thought you might need a break,” Hilda says, with a pointed look at the papers and books spread around the room. It looks like a mess, and it is, but unfortunately none if it is _old_ mess. Claude brings his work to bed with him, a loyal if demanding partner, and there’s always something new and different to worry about.

“I really do,” he says, and she pours them both wine, and they spend a few minutes absolutely eviscerating the nobles they dealt with earlier - their hair, how they talk, one’s officious manner of holding himself. It makes Claude feel much better.

“I’m surprised you knocked,” Claude says after a bit, pouring himself another glass of wine. Two is usually his limit. He doesn’t have much of a head for alcohol, and he can’t afford to be too far in his cups - they’re in the midst of a war, after all, and what would happen if someone came for Claude and he was too drunk to be of use?

Two gets him pleasantly warm and more than a bit tipsy, but not so far gone he can’t do what might need to be done.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be alone,” says Hilda with a knowing grin, raising her eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes.

“As if I would be anything else.” He’s tried not to think about it, he tries to focus on - well, just about anything else, but the look on Hilda’s face bring unbidden memories to the surface. Dimitri’s mouth on his, on the floor of the training grounds.

Everything going wrong. 

He wishes Hilda were not quite as observant as she is.

“I did notice he hasn’t been following you around as much lately,” Hilda says, sipping her wine, eyes on him. “Lonely?”

Claude sighs, and thinks about saying nothing. Thinks about changing the subject, and he knows that she would let him if he did. Hilda always knows when he’s hiding something, but she also is never inclined to pry if it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about.

But who can he talk to about this, if not her?

“I did something stupid,” he says, finally.

“Wow! _You?_ Do something stupid?” Hilda’s voice is teasing, but it turns more gentle, and Claude knows that means she’s seen something in his face.

“Actually,” he says, and smiles, “I did a lot of stupid stuff, but I’m just gonna tell you the absolute stupidest.”

“I’m listening,” Hilda says, leaning her elbows on his desk.

“I told Dimitri-” Claude pauses, takes a sip of wine for strength, and continues, “-that I was probably in love with him.”

“Oh,” Hilda says, “_Claude._”

He knows how stupid it was. Everything else he said to Dimitri - that needed to be said. That needed to be out in the open, before they could do anything else. He doesn’t regret any of it, even if Dimitri hates him for it, even if it means that what little chance they had has already withered on the vine.

But that?

He regrets that.

“I didn’t mean to. It just - slipped out.”

“Did you mean it?” Hilda’s eyes are too sharp, and so Claude doesn’t meet them.

“It doesn’t matter if I meant it.” Yes, he meant it. He should not have said it, he should have cut his own tongue out first, but he knows - he knew then - that he meant it. But Dimitri wasn’t ready to hear it, didn’t want to hear it, and after everything else it was too much. Would have been too much even without the rest.

It’s not like Claude.

“It does matter,” Hilda says, but she knows him well enough that she doesn’t pursue that. “I didn’t think he was the type to avoid you because of something like that, though.”

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s because I want him to be king.” Claude waves his hand, brushing away that little meaningless tidbit. Hilda already knows all of his plans along those lines, anyway. “He didn’t like that. But then I said - the other thing.” He wants to wince, remembering how easily it had slipped out. The look on Dimitri’s face.

He finishes his wine.

“I,” he says, feeling it now, that light feeling in his head, his body, “am an idiot.”

“And you have the weirdest taste in men,” Hilda says complacently, pouring the rest of the bottle into her cup.

Claude looks at her, and she catches his eye, and then they’re both laughing. And it feels all right, even if just for a moment. He may have destroyed any chance he had with Dimitri, but he’s not completely alone. Not anymore.

_

Despite all of this, Dimitri hasn't forgotten his promise to Claude and he hasn't forgotten what Claude wants him to do, who Claude is, how Claude feels toward him. He still doesn't know if he can be king of all Fódlan and he doesn't know if he can be worthy of Claude's affections, let alone reciprocate - but he knows how he feels even after all of that, even if Claude is going to leave someday, even if Claude began their relationship with the thought to use him as an ally.

He still wants him. He still thinks about the day in the training hall, the way Claude kissed him. He still thinks about the excitement he felt in going to Claude's room that night, and he still imagines Claude's hands on him late at night when he can't think of anything else and guiltily satisfies his most brutal need.

Part of him knows that if he wants Claude and if he takes him like this, then he must agree to Claude's plan. And it isn't - Claude would never present him with that, he would say emphatically that this _isn't_ the case, but Dimitri isn't a fool. Claude loves his ideals so much so that he would work tirelessly for years for them to come to fruition - he would leave Fódlan and Dimitri both to claim the throne in Almyra and try to make it a better place. If Dimitri refuses his plan then everything splinters and his dreams are so much further away, and while Dimitri thinks that Claude could maybe still love him after that... he doesn't think he'd be able to live with himself after crushing such a beautiful dream that they both admittedly share.

And so in the end, he must accept. The crown, the fact that Claude will leave, and the fact that Claude loves him... or he accepts none of it, and denying Claude's feelings now somehow feels like more of a crippling blow to him than the prospect of being king.

Dimitri feels like he has no choice and he spends another day angry about that, angry at Claude for putting him in this position and being so _nice_ about it, angry at Rodrigue for subtly beginning to set plans in motion for a Kingdom coronation in two months' time, angry at Lorenz and Hilda for speaking freely to Claude when he feels like he hasn't been able to string together a sentence to him in days. He takes his anger out on Felix and then Dedue in the training area and doesn't think about how Claude had kissed him with dirt in his hair and doesn't think about how he'd almost had him on the ground, right _there_.

_Your form is off_, Felix had hissed, and Dimitri threw his training weapons to the ground and stormed out.

Claude. _Claude_. Dimitri is awake for hours thinking about him, thinking about how he needs to give an answer and how there's only one answer he _can_ give, but the answer will change so many things and make him a person that he doesn't believe he can be anymore. But he - he has to try, for Claude and for Dedue, and even for Felix. If he doesn't, then where would that leave him?

He owes it to his friends. He owes it to Fódlan, and he owes it to the dead. The voices whispering to him through the walls never seem to think that he’s capable of this, but now he has a shred of doubt that they aren’t real, now he has something concrete, something to hold onto. Now, he will do what needs to be done.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the middle of the night at Garreg Mach, and Dimitri has made a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change with this chapter. So uh. You have been warned.

Claude is still focusing on work.

There's a lot of it to focus on. In fact, he never seems to run out of things he needs to do, so it's easy to let it distract him. The fact of the matter is, he isn't waiting for an answer. In all ways, he meant it entirely when he said Dimitri didn't owe him one. He gives Dimitri his space, but doesn't avoid him - what Claude wants, really, is to make it so that whatever pressure there is doesn't matter. So that they can just be friends again.

Of course, it's not exactly easy. He spends a couple late nights angry at himself, angry that he let his emotions spill over in a way that he's never done before. He's never felt like this about someone, and it made him push his feelings onto Dimitri in a way that he now knows is - frankly - asking too much. He's put Dimitri in a bad position, and while he didn't intend to, that doesn't make a difference.

So he focuses on all the endless things he needs to do to prepare for their march on Enbarr. He practices, putting arrows through targets again and again. He collects reports from scouts and spies, he sends messages, he order supplies and surveys troops. It doesn't end. It helps to have so much to focus on.

But he knows that Dimitri is keeping his distance. He knows it's his own fault. He tries not to let it hurt.

It’s not only that, he knows - or so he tells himself. Dedue is back, and Dimitri has responsibilities, friends and vassals who demand his attention. It isn’t _only_ that he’s angry at Claude. Knowing that helps a little.

Tonight, Claude is up late. He has been often - solidifying details, creating plans until he's tired enough to sleep without thinking too much. He's working at his desk, a map spread out before him and sheets of paper covered in small handwriting scattered across it, one candle burning and nothing else. The knock startles him.

He doesn't know who would visit him this late at night. If it was an emergency, the knock would be louder, pounding meant to get his attention. Someone with a message, maybe? He rubs his eyes and gets the door.

And there is Dimitri, quiet and tall, dressed casually and with an unreadable look on his face.

Almost immediately Claude regrets opening the door, but for entirely shallow reasons. He knows he's a bit of a mess. He hasn't been sleeping very well, for so many reasons. His fingers are ink-stained and he's dressed for the bed that he hadn't quite made it to, in loose pants and a soft shirt.

He'd rather look put-together in front of Dimitri. He'd rather - well, look his best. He would have cleaned up, if he'd known, but he didn't expect this.

“Oh - hello.” Sure, Claude didn't expect this, but still he smiles. It's the first time Dimitri has sought him out since the last time they were in his room together. Pathetically, all shallowness aside, Claude is just happy to see him. Perhaps he can mend the damage he's done to their friendship. “You're up late.”

Dimitri does not respond immediately. Not with words. 

He kisses Claude in the doorway, suddenly and without warning. There’s so much need in it, all the unease of the last few days, the hours, minutes, seconds it’s been since they last kissed one another, all rolled into one collision that feels as inevitable as the sunrise. Dimitri presses closer with a hand on Claude's jaw, pushing him further backward into his room without breaking the kiss.

There’s no way Claude could possibly have expected this. It throws him off his guard and comes as close to sweeping him off his feet as anything ever has. He stumbles backwards as Dimitri moves into the room but he doesn't pull away, even though he knows he probably should. Don't they need to talk? Shouldn't they figure things out?

But does it really matter, in the end? Claude doesn't need an answer. If Dimitri is here with him, kissing him, it's because he wants to be - and whatever the motives behind that, Claude is fine with it. Maybe Dimitri is just worked up and needs a release, maybe he wants a distraction, maybe he really does want to be with Claude. Does it matter which of those it is, if he's here?

It does. Claude can't really pretend otherwise, but he doesn't want to demand an answer, either. Right now, in this moment, all he can think about is Dimitri, Dimitri's lips on his, his hand on Claude's face. His own hands come up, catching hold of Dimitri's arms, but not to push him away. He holds onto him, pulls him closer, kisses him again. Moments ago he was sleepy, poring over maps and making notes, idly thinking about trying to get some rest. Now his whole body is alive with desire.

He wants to lead Dimitri to the bed, push him down onto it, peel his shirt off and trace the scars he finds with his tongue. He wants more, he wants to know how Dimitri tastes. He's thought about it. He wants to know what he'll sound like when he comes, if he'll cry out, if he'll say Claude's name, if he'll be totally silent. He wants to know what happens when Dimitri loses control. He wants to see Dimitri want him, he wants to feel Dimitri give in to that desire.

He wants - so much more.

He manages to stop himself before he gets carried away, before he does anything more than hold on to Dimitri and kiss him like his life depends on it. He doesn't pull away, not really, he's not sure he can handle any distance between them right now. But he stops just for a moment, just look enough to breathe, long enough to look at Dimitri.

“Hey. You don't have to do this,” he says.

He's breathless, flushed already, still holding on to Dimitri like he’s the only thing keeping Claude afloat. He just needs to know that Dimitri knows what he's doing. He doesn't need the reason yet - he's not sure he wants to know if this is just Dimitri letting off steam or something more. But he needs to know that this isn't - a mistake, a miscalculation, Dimitri trying to save their friendship. He needs to know that Dimitri is actually here because he wants _Claude._

Dimitri noses after him when Claude breaks the kiss with a soft noise in the back of his throat. He lifts a hand to Claude's hair, brushing his thumb along the soft waves of it, breathless and flushed with the ferocity of their kiss. After a moment when it’s clear that Claude isn’t kissing him again, Dimitri lowers his head, pressing their cheeks together with the scrap of fabric over his ruined eye scraping against Claude's cheekbone.

“...I accept,” he finally says, whispering it into Claude's ear. “I will be your king. I will protect the weak and rebuild what was lost. I will honor your return to Almyra and meet you as an equal in all things. I will - we will create a peace together, you and I.”

Claude’s heart beats harder in his chest. He didn’t need an answer, he wouldn’t have demanded one, but this, after Dimitri’s anger, after these long days of silence between them - “Are you sure?”

Dimitri steps back, but doesn’t let go of him. Just far enough so they can both breathe, just far enough so Dimitri’s mere presence isn’t overwhelming him, isn’t making his knees go weak. 

“I’m... sure of my decision,” Dimitri says, slow, as if he is choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know that I can be the king Fódlan needs, but..” His gaze flickers to Claude, steady. “I’ve spent enough time in the darkness. I may never be the person they - you - want me to be, but I will try.”

Claude raises a hand, brushing his fingers against Dimitri’s cheek, the warmth of his skin a distraction. He wants to say that he believes in Dimitri, that he will even if Dimitri doesn’t believe in himself. It’s the truth, after all, though perhaps Dimitri already knows it. But Dimitri speaks again before Claude can find the words.

“I was devoting myself to the ones I had lost.” Dimitri’s voice is quiet now, and he isn’t quite looking at Claude. Claude wonders if he is haunted, if he is looking at the ghosts that fill his mind, his ears. “But there are those still living who I can protect. Who I must protect.” Unconsciously, he moves against Claude’s touch, pressing his cheek to Claude’s hand. Claude, unable to look away, brushes a thumb over his cheekbone, and Dimitri’s eye flickers back to him.

“I know what your dreams are. I believe in them - in you. I was… angry.” He takes a breath, shuddering, steps closer to Claude, and Claude finds it hard to think. “But I think I understand better now. I’m sorry it took me this long.”

Claude lets his hand fall, he looks at Dimitri, and all he wants in the world, in that moment, is the man in front of him.

“So… I will be your king,” Dimitri says, and he nudges back to capture Claude's lips in another kiss, moving closer toward him, resting his other hand on his hip where he can feel the warmth of his skin through his night clothes. When he speaks again, it's barely intelligible, muttered against Claude's lips.

“But I want you - I need you now, first.”

Claude's emotions are a jumble. He didn't expect _this_ certainly, this quiet acceptance of everything Claude had asked of Dimitri. This decision to take on the same mission that Claude has been working towards, to unite the land and bring it peace. He wanted Dimitri to agree to it, of course, because he didn't want to feel like he was forcing Dimitri onto the throne - but he didn't expect this unconditional promise.

If Claude hadn't already fallen, he would have certainly found himself lost in this moment.

“I'm yours.” He whispers, a puff of breath against Dimitri's lips, and then he's kissing him again, with all the need and desire he held back until this moment. He moves a step closer, until he's pressed right up against Dimitri, the warm line of their bodies against each other. “All of me.”

And really, that's been true for awhile. Claude's not the sort to stray or to look around when there's someone he wants - which is a rare enough occurrence as it is. There's really never been anyone who could stake any kind of a claim on Claude, not for more than a night or two, and now there's Dimitri, and Claude will give him any kind of claim he wishes.

In between kisses, Claude's hands tug at the hem of Dimitri's shirt, pulling it up so he can reach under and slide his fingertips across Dimitri's stomach. He expects scars, he's not concerned about any of that - they've both been in battle often enough, and Dimitri has been through so much, that Claude fears nothing that he might find. He only wants to respect whatever boundaries Dimitri has, except he also really wants to touch him, and so he does.

“Stop me if I go too far.” He's really breathless now. Claude knows that, despite his rather meager experience, it's probably more than Dimitri's. And he wants so much, he's worried it'll be too much - so he has to trust that Dimitri will say something if it gets too intimate, too insistent, too much. Otherwise Claude doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself.

Dimitri hums a gentle murmur of encouragement and leans in for another biting kiss, unable to just - stop kissing him - and pulls his hands back just for a moment, just long enough to reach for his shirt and tug it over his head and drop it onto the floor before pulling Claude close to him again to mouth at his throat, a hungry and insatiable thing.

Claude has seen him without a shirt before, back when they'd first met again, and even though those were vastly different circumstances, he knows what to expect. Dimitri is lean and muscular with the kind of body that's only just recently beginning to recover from having far too many demands on it with too few meals in between. Years of living on the run with no healing magic and picking fights with every patrolling imperial group on the road has left him with more than his fair share of scars and they take a myriad of shapes and colors across his skin: white and faded at his bicep, pockmarked and circular at his shoulder (that fateful arrow from Gronder Field, Claude remembers), raised and pinking along his ribs.

Dimitri doesn't seem to feel self conscious about any of it, though, and continues working down Claude's throat, tongue tracing the dip of his collarbone while his hands drift downward to tug at the offending clothing that is beginning to get in the way of his mouth.

Dimitri pulls back enough to look at Claude from under his hair, his blue eye intense and too far into this to question himself now.

“Should we -” Dimitri’s voice is not quite hesitant, but not quite certain either. “- your bed?”

Claude traces his fingers along the scars he can reach, along his ribs, over unscarred skin. Just touching Dimitri, accepting everything that he feels and wanting more, always more. 

“Yeah,” Claude says, his response heated and breathless. This is more than he expected, honestly - but so are Dimitri's kisses. Unpracticed but hungry, and the way he looks at Claude is... well, no one's looked at him like that before.

Claude steps away long enough to peel his own shirt off and drop it on the floor while Dimitri just watches him with an expression that can only be defined as _ravenous_. Claude has his fair share of scars, though nothing like Dimitri's - he's always had a healer within reach, able to mend his wounds before they get too bad, leaving him with only thin silvery scars stretching across brown skin, memorabilia of arrows that got too close and swords that passed his guard. He's been lucky, or maybe it's just the way that he fights: in the air, arrows from above, dodging everything that he can.

He doesn't think about that. He only thinks about being with Dimitri. The bed is close, since his room isn’t very large. He catches the other man’s arm and pulls him to it, pushing him back to sit on it. Dimitri stumbles back when he's pushed toward the bed, and Claude should probably wait, should probably take his time, but he can’t. 

Instead, he climbs onto the bed, straddling Dimitri's lap, which gives him just enough height to curl his hand around the back of Dimitri's neck and lean down for another kiss, and another. He's used to Dimitri being taller than him, but this gives him a few inches of height, and he takes advantage of it to tangle his fingers in Dimitri's hair and press kisses along his cheek and jaw.

“Goddess - look at you -”

He trails his free hand down Dimitri's shoulder, wanting to touch every part of him while Dimitri wraps his arms around Claude’s waist, his fingers tracing slowly up the indent of his spine. Chest to chest like this, with Claude's legs slotted carefully around Dimitri's, Claude shifts his weight just slightly and he can feel Dimitri surging upward as if stung by a shock of electricity, the muscles in his arms tightening around him to keep him close. For the first time, Claude can feel the brush of Dimitri's rapidly-firming cock against his thigh. 

“Claude -” Dimitri breathes his name in a rush, tipping his head so that Claude can kiss at his neck, lowering one of his arms so that his forearm is circled around Claude's hips and he can tug him even closer. “I've- I've never-”

This isn’t a surprise. Dimitri's world ended at thirteen, he'd spent the next five years disregarding everything save for his vengeance, and the next five after that on the run and without anyone to give him safe harbor. It's no surprise that he has no experience in relationships, and given his singleminded drive, no real shock that he hasn't simply climbed into bed with someone for warmth in the time between now and then.

It's hard to pay attention to anything but the heat of Dimitri's body, the press of skin against skin, how much he wants to just push himself against the weight of Dimitri and _move_. But Claude wants this to be good, he wants to make Dimitri feel good. He'd guessed, of course, that Dimitri probably hadn't done this before - but not because he acts inexperienced now.

If anything, it's the opposite, Dimitri's hungry instincts are appealing to Claude in a way he maybe ought to be a little embarrassed about. People have wanted him before, but... just for some fun, a few hours spent together, nothing serious, no particular interest in _him_. Not like this, where when Dimitri kisses him Claude feels like he would be happy letting himself be devoured, where the sheer burning fire of need they share underlies everything.

Claude's never wanted anyone like this. He's never been wanted like this.

But he also knows, when he can stop and think for a moment (which, to be fair, is incredibly difficult) that Dimitri probably hasn't either. That no matter how much Claude wants - and he does, so much - he has to try to have some kind of responsibility, some kind of care. He wants this to be good for Dimitri. He doesn't want to go too fast, too far, too soon and make a mistake.

Of course, he doesn't want to stop, either.

“It's okay,” he murmurs.

He's not really sure what more to say than that, what kind of reassurance he should give. It's said in a rush against Dimitri's skin, and then Claude places another kiss on his neck. He settles back, pulling away a little, but only so he can trail his hand down Dimitri's abdomen. Only so he can get a little more range of motion, because -

“Can I touch you?”

Dimitri's pants - loose as they are, meant for sleeping in - are in the way. Ideally Claude would like them off, but then he would have to get off Dimitri, and he doesn't particularly want to. He just... wants to get his hands on Dimitri, and if Dimitri has never done anything, then Claude wants to give him everything. They’re both hard, and while Claude just wants to press against him and _move_ together, he also wants more. He wants to give Dimitri all the pleasure he's able to.

“Yes,” Dimitri says, barely managing to get it out. He can't really hold Claude as closely with Claude perched on his lap like this and so Dimitri leans back on the bed with his arms behind him, balancing on his palms so that Claude has the space for everything he wants to do to him.

“Please.” 

It's a quiet request and Dimitri bites his lip while Claude works into his pants, his breath coming in a hitching gasp when Claude finally touches him, skin on skin. He's already half hard and he reacts quickly to Claude’s touch, cock twitching into his confident grasp. Dimitri must want to move against him, Claude can tell in the way his hips jerk just slightly at the first touch of skin, the way his muscles go tense with his rippling power, but he holds himself carefully still. It’s a good thing too, with Claude straddling him as precariously as he is - it wouldn’t take much to accidentally knock him off.

Dimitri lets out a soft sound through his gritted teeth and that - _that_, the inescapable proof that Dimitri is enjoying this, goes straight to Claude's head. He can't quite believe that he's actually allowed to do this, that he's allowed to touch Dimitri, to be this close to him. That Dimitri wants him here. Wants him.

Luckily, his own pants are loose enough that things aren't getting uncomfortable for him quite yet, because right now he'd far prefer to pay attention to Dimitri than to himself. Claude has always liked giving his partners pleasure, and with Dimitri - the look on his face, the way he's so clearly holding himself back, letting Claude touch him - he just wants more. It was never only lip service, saying that he wanted to give Dimitri everything.

He works his hand on Dimitri, slow at first, wanting to set the pace easily for this - because he doesn't know how much Dimitri is willing to allow, because he doesn't want to push him too far, but also because Claude wants to enjoy this. He wants to remember this. He doesn't think this will be the only time - he thinks there's a future for them, and that seems brilliant, impossible - but just in case it is, he wants to remember it.

“I've wanted you so much.” He says it softly, his eyes on Dimitri, his hand wrapped around his cock. He's thought about this before. He's wanted this. He's - well, imagined it quite vividly, much to his own shame. But this is so much more. Dimitri is real, he's here, he's letting Claude touch him.

He slides his other hand across Dimitri's chest, and then leans in, following that path with his mouth, tracing a vivid scar and then leaving it to tease Dimitri's nipple with his tongue. It's a bit of an awkward position, curved inward so he can keep stroking Dimitri, but Claude really doesn't mind. He can't help himself.

Dimitri raises one of his hands, shifting a little to balance on his other hand, to thread his fingers through Claude's hair while Claude pays attention to his chest. His head tips back as he breathes through the pleasure that Claude is giving him, his body just as receptive to touch as Claude hoped it would be.

“How much?” Dimitri asks, too breathless to be coy but asking all the same. Dimitri's fingers tighten in Claude's hair when he hits a particularly sensitive spot and he arches against him, wanting as much contact as he possibly can. “Because I've been - dreaming about you.” Dimitri admits, low like it's a confession, and Claude makes a quick mental note to make him elaborate on _that_ particular statement later.

But first, _how much?_ Claude almost wants to laugh, except he fears Dimitri would take it the wrong way. He presses another kiss to Dimitri's skin, then straightens so that he can meet Dimitri's gaze.

“When I saw you in that cell - when you let me tend your wound - I thought to myself, _goddess, he grew up handsome._”

Maybe an odd thought, considering Dimitri was not pleasant to him and hadn't taken very good care of himself, but Claude is nothing if not observant. It was an idle thought at the time, Claude noticing that though Dimitri had been attractive as a boy, he was something else now - something even more appealing, perhaps even more so because of the danger he embodied.

“But it wasn't until after that - until Fort Merceus - that I started dreaming of you.”

He wants Dimitri to know how much Claude has wanted him. He deserves to know that. Claude feels certain that few people, if any, have made Dimitri feel wanted in the past few years, and Claude of all people knows how that can become a quiet emptiness inside of you, something you hardly notice anymore until someone says something, until things change and you realize what you'd been missing all this time.

He's still touching Dimitri, slow and even strokes, he has been the whole time - but now Claude starts to speed up to a faster rhythm, watching Dimitri, never looking away. He's uncomfortably hard himself, but he wants this first, he wants to see Dimitri come because of him.

“I imagined what it would be like to kiss you, to be close to you. A shameful thing, when what you needed was a loyal friend, but I suppose I am not the best of men.” Claude's voice is low, intimate. “I've wanted to touch you like this for weeks.”

Dimitri’s breath comes out a little shakier as Claude moves faster and Dimitri's hand in his hair falls to his shoulder, using the weight of his other arm on the bed to move his hips into Claude’s firm touch. 

“I didn't know,” he pants out, clutching at Claude's shoulders a little tighter. He's close even from just this much and Dimitri isn't loud but he's vocal all the same, breathy sounds and soft little keens that escape the vice of his throat. “I didn't see it - I wish I had, _goddess_ -”

He finds a solid rhythm and sticks with it, using his arm on Claude's shoulder to pull him closer and fuck up into his fist while keeping Claude close to him, a high flush rising on his cheeks, his chest. 

“-please.” 

Claude doesn't know if Dimitri's asking for Claude to tell him more or to go harder or faster or if he just wants to beg him in that moment, it just spills out of Dimitri’s throat alongside the other quiet sounds. He’s not sure it matters. Claude is lost in this, so caught up in the look on Dimitri's face, the red flush on his cheeks, the way his body is moving, the sounds he makes. He'd thought about it, of course, but it's nothing like the reality. A pale imitation, if that. He strokes Dimitri faster, wanting to bring him through this, wanting to give him whatever he needs.

“I've got you,” Claude says. He has to struggle a bit to keep his voice even. His own breath is coming faster, the flush in his cheeks harder to see against his tan skin. But all of him is focused on Dimitri, even if his own body is beginning to desperately need some kind of release as well - this first, Dimitri first, Claude has wanted it for so long. “You can let go. I've got you.”

He wishes he could touch Dimitri more, could kiss him, could express all the hunger and desire he feels, but right now Claude only barely has the presence of mind to do what he's already doing. His hand on Dimitri is moving more quickly, faster, harder, wanting only to bring him to the brink and push him over. Claude can think about nothing else except this, except the candlelight on Dimitri's hair and the look in his eyes and goddess, everything about him.

It's so much more than he imagined, so much better.

It doesn't take much longer. Dimitri reaches the sharp edge of his limit and eagerly tumbles over into Claude's waiting hands. He comes, trembling his way through it with Claude as his only witness - his grip on Claude's shoulders intensifies and Dimitri groans, rolling his hips with it as he empties himself between them.

And then it's over and Dimitri is gasping for breath, his chest heaving and soft with sweat. Dimitri tumbles back downward from his crescendo, his shoulders slacken, his grip on Claude's shoulders loosens and Claude watches him catch his breath, content and lazy like a cat in a sunbeam. He can’t look away.

“You're -” Dimitri pauses for a moment, looking for words. Then he smiles, unguarded and showing teeth, before glancing shyly up toward Claude through his hair. “You're amazing.”

It feels incredible just to do that, just to give Dimitri that - that moment of release, of pleasure. Claude can't look away. And his smile afterward... Claude's never seen him look like that. It tugs at his heart in a way he didn't expect, that sudden moment of what seems like real happiness. Did he cause that, was he a part of it? It might be nothing more than the relief of release, but to Claude right now, it doesn't matter. It feels real.

He tucks the compliment - a rare thing, perhaps - away for later, when things are difficult, when he feels like he can't please anyone in this land. It's silly, but... it'll help, remembering that Dimitri looked at him like that, remembering that whatever else may happen, in this moment he feels this way about Claude.

He's almost painfully hard, though, after watching all of that, after touching Dimitri and kissing him and licking the salt off his skin. Claude would be happy enough just bringing himself off pressed close to Dimitri, but to be touched by him - well, that would quite literally be a dream come true.

Dimitri sits up fully and reaches between them to tuck himself back into his pants and regard Claude for a moment.

Then without warning, Dimitri reaches up and flips them, knocking Claude over to the side, taking care that he lands on the bed and not the floor. Claude's shoulders hit the mattress with his calves still dangling off the bed and Dimitri climbs over him, leaning in low so his hair brushes against Claude's face and kisses him thoroughly. When he pulls away, he's still smiling, still a little too pleased with himself, but also realizing again the limits of his inexperience as his fingers trail down Claude's chest.

“I want to - can I do it to you?”

Claude is - well, a bit surprised by the sudden movement. In the softness and pleasure of these moments, he forgot briefly that Dimitri is a warrior, is fast and strong, stronger than him, and certainly has the advantage in close quarters like this. Not that Claude is complaining. He's so used to putting on a show of always knowing what he's doing, always being in control, that being knocked off his guard a bit is actually kind of pleasant. Especially when it involves Dimitri touching him, Dimitri's lips on his.

“You can do anything you want to me.” Claude means for it to come out teasing, provoking, flirtatious - but he's a little more worked up than he thought, and it actually comes out breathless. It's still _true_, though, either way.

Dimitri has Claude on his back just as he had him a few days ago at the training area. But now, it's - it's even better because now they can touch like they wanted to, kiss, and know that they won't be disturbed.

His hand is still on Claude's stomach and Dimitri's fingers slip further down, hesitating at the hem of his pants while he figures out how to proceed. Slowly, he reaches a hand down over Claude's pants to cup against his cock. Claude takes a breath, holds on to his composure, and does not urge Dimitri on - wanting him to take this at his own pace, to do only what he’s comfortable with.

Dimitri feels the shape and weight of him through the thin fabric of his clothing, growing accustomed to the sensation of just feeling him before adventurously dipping his hand down beneath Claude's waistband to grip at him fully. Dimitri leans in then, kissing Claude soundly, and grows more confident.

“I meant it - I want to do everything do you.” He murmurs it as he strokes Claude, his other arm reaching up to brace himself over Claude's head. Dimitri is so focused that it would almost be amusing in another context, but as he concentrates on nothing but Claude, the force of that attention like this - it’s almost too much. “I don't know how yet... you'll have to show me, but I will.”

Like most things Dimitri says, it's a promise but also vaguely a threat and he uses the opportunity to bite into the side of Claude's neck, sucking a long and stained mark against his skin while he rolls his body up against Claude's own, repositioning slightly so that he can shove a thigh between his legs, hitch it up high and let Claude dictate whatever speed he needs it at.

Claude is already so hard, so aroused from watching Dimitri and touching him and bringing him off, that - if he were honest - he'd say that Dimitri really isn't going to have to do much at all. Just his hand on Claude is enough to draw out a stuttered moan, and Claude makes no effort to stay quiet. Even if he could, which is up for debate, Dimitri deserves to know what effect he's having on Claude.

“You're a pretty fast learner.” His voice is ragged, affection and amusement and arousal all tangled up in it, and he welcomes Dimitri between his legs because all he wants right now, all he can think about is more contact, more pressure, just more. He arches against that pressure, and he thinks about everything they can do, everything he's _allowed_ to do now. He'd so easily written it off as impossible, being with Dimitri like this, but now they're here, and Dimitri's hand is on him, his mouth on Claude's neck, and if he leaves a mark that just means in the morning Claude will know this wasn't a dream.

He moves his hips against Dimitri's touch, trying to control himself, torn between competing desires - he's so close, he wants this so badly, but he also wants it to last, he wants to spend hours tangled up in Dimitri, kissing every scar on his body and learning how he likes to be touched. He wants Dimitri to look at him, only at him, and want him more than anything. He wants - goddess, so much, and he really can't last much longer.

“Ah - Dimitri, more -” There's no chance he can sound anything but wrecked right now, and hungry, and a little desperate. But that's all right, surely Dimitri knows already.

“You're so good,” Dimitri growls out in a low vibration against Claude's throat, shifting down to bite at the other man's shoulder in turn, all teeth and tongue, his hand on Claude's cock moving faster, mimicking what Claude had done to him earlier. He has to use his other arm for balance, so he can’t really touch Claude, as much as Claude would like that - but he can bite, and so he bites yet again, carving a small war path down the skin of Claude's shoulder and chest.

It's absolutely unfair that Dimitri is like this, warm and so close and intense, and Claude would be cursing whatever gods or goddesses there are except that this is his, right now Dimitri is his, his voice in Claude's ear and his mouth on Claude's skin. He says things that Claude didn't even know he wanted to hear, and Claude feels like the singular focus of Dimitri's desire, something that feels impossible and overwhelming and everything he could possibly want.

“I want you again, forever. I want to taste you. I want to touch you. I want you - laid out for me, I want to -” Dimitri bites down again and this time his desire gets the better of him and he breaks skin, just barely. He looks back up toward Claude, apologetic, and runs his tongue over the slight injury, moving his hand faster, tighter, working his body up against Claude's own.

The sharp, short burst of pain that comes when he bites Claude is nothing more than added sensation, counterpoint to the pleasure he feels, making it even sweeter. He arches up against Dimitri one last time, and then he can't hold on anymore, bliss surging through him as he comes, his body bowstring-tense for a moment before relaxing.

For a moment afterward, or maybe for two, Claude can do nothing but breathe and feel his way through. It's never really been like that for Claude before, and he doesn't know if it's because he's wanted Dimitri for this long or because he feels so much more for him than anyone else he's been close to. He doesn't know how to express that, isn't sure he would if he could, so instead once he's caught his breath he tugs at Dimitri's hair, pulling him up for a kiss, messy and tired but still - even now - hungry. Dimitri relents into the kiss easily, kissing Claude deep and thorough, tasting his mouth and leaning into him with a brutally satisfied sound.

He's not sure he could ever get his fill of Dimitri.

“Stay here tonight.” Claude's a bit hazy, caught up in this afterglow of pleasure and affection, but he knows he won't want Dimitri to leave his side even after he's come down. Maybe Dimitri intended to stay from the beginning - either way, Claude wants to be sure he knows that Claude wants him there, wants more time with him, more shared kisses, more quiet words.

They can't exactly go public with this for so many reasons, but Claude doesn't want to treat it like a dirty secret, either. So long as they aren't seen to come out of each others' bedroom with messy hair and bitemarks, so long as they're a little careful, it should be all right.

At least, Claude is more than willing to take that risk.

Dimitri doesn’t look surprised but he does look pleased, and he nods his agreement. He slips off Claude just long enough to find a cloth that they can wipe themselves up with and promptly cleans the messes they've both made before climbing back up into bed, catlike as he maneuvers Claude so that they're both finally laying properly on the mattress. He doesn't fiddle with the blankets, not yet, and seems content to simply stretch out by Claude's side.

“I'll stay for as long as you'll have me,” he promises, hitching up on his side with an elbow on the mattress. The beds are small - they're meant to house a single student, not two grown men - and so Dimitri scoots backward to make a bit more room, taking up a little less space so that Claude can get comfortable. “You... you were incredible.”

Claude finds himself unexpectedly charmed by these small, thoughtful gestures - cleaning up after them, making room for him. Little things that Claude wouldn't necessarily have thought Dimitri would consider. Claude's never had a lover really, nothing permanent, but that's what he wants now. He wants to have the time to figure out how they fit together.

They have a week or so before the army marches on Enbarr. They'll have until then, at least, and… after, he hopes. If everything goes according to plan, they'll be able to make their own path and he'll be able to stay by Dimitri's side while they rebuild together. That won't last forever - he does have to go back to Almyra - but he isn't going to leave before setting Fódlan to right again.

Or before making sure Dimitri will be alright.

He raises a hand, reaching out to touch his fingers to Dimitri's cheek.

“Me? Goddess, having you near and not being able to be close to you during the day is going to drive me crazy, now that I know what your touch feels like.” He says it with a sweet smile, casual and affectionate. It feels impossible to him that he can say things like this, that he can lay next to Dimitri. But that feeling means he'll just do it as often as possible, give Dimitri all the appreciation he's felt this whole time and been unable to share. “You've ruined me.”

And that sounds like more of a joke, or Claude makes it sound that way, but - well, it's not, really, is it?

Dimitri flushes, ducking into Claude's touch and pressing his face against the other man's fingers. The color on his pale skin is striking, and for a moment they’re simply touching each other. Eventually, Dimitri reaches with his free hand and captures Claude's wrist in his fingers, holding him still so that he can kiss at the other man's palm, idly pressing his lips over Claude's fingers, his thumb, worrying his teeth over the callouses that come from stringing and drawing a bow.

“You saved me,” he finally says in return, soft and heartfelt. Dimitri drops Claude's wrist, his gaze flickering up to Claude's face, sincere and with his customary intensity. Slowly, Dimitri leans his head back on his arm where he's still on his side and the corner of his mouth perks up just slightly. “I guess I got the better end of the deal.”

It's lighthearted and it's not at the same time - Dimitri is teasing, but there's something serious to it, a truth that they both are aware of. 

“No,” Claude says, quiet and simple, dropping his teasing facade for a moment. “Whatever it takes to bring us to this point - you here with me, alive - I'd do it a thousand times over.”

Dimitri probably would be dead if Claude had not captured him. He'd probably have thrown himself against Imperial soldiers again and again, until a lucky blade pierced his heart, until his unending drive for revenge led to him bleeding out on the ground. But Claude doesn't see that as a gift he gave Dimitri or anything that is owed, because that outcome is simply unacceptable.

If he hadn't captured Dimitri, Dimitri would be dead now. Claude would probably be dead too, killed by the Death Knight at Fort Merceus, his plans fallen apart. And even if he weren't, he'd be... what? Alone, certainly. Trying to fix a land that doesn't want him, trying to make a plan that will hold together even after he's left.

And alone.

He's been alone for a lot of his life, and some of that has been his own choice. But he's never wanted to be, he's always hoped someday to create a world where he wouldn't be, where he would be accepted, and have friends and people who loved him. He hasn't fixed Fódlan yet, but he has friends, and he has - this. Something he never thought was possible for him.

He leans in, pressing his lips to Dimitri's, slow and rich and sweet, without the hurried hunger from before. Dimitri returns the kiss, languid and utterly content in the contact they can share now.

“I'm thinking I came out ahead on this deal,” Claude says, and grins. He regains a little of his flippant nature, light and bright and always seeming to avoid seriousness, even when he's deep in it. “Look what I got.”

And they're so close together already on the small bed, but Claude moves closer, slinging his arm over Dimitri's waist, pressing in close to him, entirely ready to cuddle until he falls asleep. Well - to try, anyway, since Claude's never done that before. But Dimitri is warm, and Claude thinks he might finally be able to sleep decently, at least for tonight. 

Dimitri shifts around a little before they can both settle into a comfortable position with Claude pressed warmly against him. Claude knows it’s unlikely he’s ever been this close to anyone before either. He might have thought that Dimitri would dislike it, that having another person pressed in like this would make him wary and unsure… but maybe it’s Claude or maybe it’s something else. Whatever it is, Dimitri relaxes against him.

“You have a monster,” Dimitri responds, sleepy. He reaches up to take off his eyepatch, lest it get tangled in his hair or lost in his sleep, and lazily moves to hang it on the bedpost for tomorrow. Without the covering, his ruined eye is still barely-visible in the candlelight, with the predictable ugly scar slashed through the right side of his face. It's deep and bisects his eyelid, which can no longer effortlessly close all the way due to the scar tissue - his eye underneath is milky and unseeing and Dimitri presses that side of his face into the pillow so that he can pull Claude closer, making himself comfortable. “The king of beasts. Hm.”

There's a pause - he's still a little lighthearted about this, even if he's being self deprecating. Dimitri noses forward just a little, pressing his mouth against Claude's temple.

“Your king.”

That's something that Claude will have to work on, he thinks. Something that will take time. Someday, maybe, he can get Dimitri to see himself the way Claude sees him - not a monster at all. Lost, and angry, and broken in some ways, but not beyond repair. Not beyond healing. Incredibly strong, to survive this long. Driven. Loyal.

But that's for another time. That's not something that can be fixed in one night, and Claude is nothing if not patient.

“My king,” he echoes.

It should perhaps have more of a sense of servitude to it, given that Claude will be expected to swear fealty when Dimitri takes the throne, will be expected to serve Dimitri as the rest of the nobles are. Of course, Claude will slip out of it somehow - as a prince of another land, he can't swear fealty to the king of this one. Though he is more than ready to take some vows at Dimitri's feet, _unconditional loyalty to Fódlan and its king_ can't be one of them. He will likely swear fealty for the Leicester Alliance instead of for himself, and few will notice.

So it should sound subservient, because Claude is, after all, technically a servant of the future king of Fódlan, delivering victory and the land itself to him. But when he says it, it comes out - a little closer to possessive. His king. As much as Claude will serve Dimitri, is serving Dimitri, Dimitri is also serving him. Allowing Claude to use him, to set him on the throne, despite his own misgivings. Allowing Claude to care for him, and touch him, and lay next to him in utter bliss.

Claude isn't really the possessive sort. And yet, it is difficult for his heart to think of Dimitri as anything but his.

“Sleep, my king. I'll be here with you.”

“Mm,” is the only sound Dimitri makes, half-asleep already, and Claude lets himself settle too, lets the warmth of Dimitri’s body lull him into a light sleep. It may not last - they’re both haunted in their own ways - but for now he can let himself sleep in Dimitri’s arms.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Enbarr, Dimitri starts falling back into old habits. Claude invites him to teatime to try and calm him down.

The journey to Enbarr has been easy so far. With both Claude and Dimitri available to make plans and work on logistics, plus their various nobles and lieutenants available to shoulder some of the burdens, organizing their trip and setting to march for the heart of the Empire has been seamless, with all of the small snags and errors being dealt with easily and quickly.

It's for the best, because Dimitri is on edge and anxious, the worst he's been in awhile. Most are staying clear of him, only approaching him to ask the most vital questions, with everything else being filtered through Rodrigue or Gilbert or Claude. He's not worried that they will fail, exactly - failure is a possibility and it's one that he's considered before, but it doesn't weigh on him as much as the mounting anticipation which turns his heart inside out with each step closer to Enbarr.

The feeling is poisonous and it slowly infects every part of his body until it's all he can live for, with each breath and each footfall causing it to elevate until he can't take it anymore. He snaps at Dedue and Annette and even Claude, who most definitely doesn't deserve it, and sulks alone for the first few days of the trip. Dimitri tends to himself, saddles his own horse, packs his own equipment, and rides in the lead as he ought to, but separated from the others. In part, this is because he doesn't want to be bothered by them and in part this is because he gets odd looks from the members of his house when they overhear him talking to nobody.

But he has to be ready. They have to be ready.

It's two days into the ride when they have to stop. A recent rain has turned their path into a marshy swamp that the horses have trouble navigating through. Dimitri demands that they push on, give their supplies to the fliers and just leave the horses if they must, but he's outvoted and for a moment, it's like he's his wild self again, full of rage and giving others the concern that he might just take a steed and ride to Enbarr on his own.

He doesn't. He waits as they find solid ground to make camp on while they wait for the coming sun to dry out the ground and he waits as the tents go up even though there's a few hours of daylight left that they're wasting, and he practices throwing javelins into trees while those around him make the necessary arrangements. He waits and Lambert curses him and Glenn hates him for doing _nothing_ and his heart feels like it will burst if it has to beat any longer without Edelgard's neck under his fingers.

Dimitri needs to lead them. He knows this. He promised Claude he would. But he can't - not right now, not when this is so close.

It's almost nightfall when he finally wanders back to camp, the bottom of his cloak caked in mud and looking like the dead as he cuts a line directly to Claude, with everyone around him stumbling over themselves to get out of his way.

“My tent,” he grumbles, casting a withering glare at whatever noble had been trying to engage Claude in a conversation until he eventually shrinks and excuses himself. “Haven't put it up yet. Where are you staying?”

Claude has been busy this trip, much like Dimitri, though he’s been a much better sport about it. Even when Dimitri snapped at him and pushed him away, he’d taken it well and simply let Dimitri act out all of his anger. So now, when he looks at him, it’s with concern, but also a muted reservation. Still, Dimitri coming to him must settle _something_ in his chest, because when Dimitri makes his demands, a look of relief tinges at the corners of Claude’s eyes and he nods.

“Oh - over by that hill.”

He points to a spot a little ways off from the main army, with the tents of his old school companions in a loose cluster around it. If there's an attack, they can protect each other, and there's _just_ enough of an attitude of exclusion that he might be able to sleep the night through without interruption.

There's room, though. They all like a little space, so there's room.

Claude turns back to Dimitri, smiling. “I'll help you set yours up, if you want.” It's an invitation, though he's come at it a bit sideways.

Dimitri nods - while getting Claude to help him set up his tent hadn't been his original intention, he's pleased enough that the other man is willing to spend at least some time with him, given how he's acted for most of this trip. There's a tension in his shoulders that won't bleed out and he glances furtively around the campground before moving back for where he'd left his horse.

“Come on,” he growls, moving away. At least with Dimitri in this sort of mood, nobody is likely to try and steal Claude away from him for some important business as few can really stand to be around the boar prince, much less be willing to risk angering him further.

The horse isn't far. It's an imposing grey Kingdom warhorse, with legs as thick as tree branches and an overly-furry coat to withstand the cold winters of Faerghus. It doesn't like the heat of the South any more than Dimitri does and stamps its disapproval of the muddy ground when Dimitri makes his way to it. He doesn't seem that sympathetic though and simply hooks his fingers into the bridle so that he can lead it over to where Claude's tent is. It goes with him without further complaint, expertly trained - only the best of creatures for the future king.

They make the first part of their journey in relative silence, with Dimitri sulking and thinking of what could come in the days ahead, but he knows that the chance to get Claude alone with him is slim, and so he knows that this may be the best time they can spend together for awhile. Maybe even the last time they might have before this is over... and after this is over too, as he's sure there will be plenty of matters that they both need to tend to once Enbarr is his.

He doesn't like thinking about it - any of it really, but particularly the thought that Claude will be further out of reach than ever, and so he turns to him with a frown, trying to control the annoyance and rage he's been giving in to since the march began.

“...thank you,” he finally says through gritted teeth. For helping him, he means, but he knows it's not just about the help. It's that Claude had willingly walked away from his myriad of responsibilities just to help Dimitri throw a few tent poles together, even though Dimitri has been short with him for most of the trip. He knows that he isn't easy to deal with, but that Claude would be willing to volunteer knowing this... it soothes him, just a little.

“You're the one who got me away from a question about whether someone should make their camp by their infantry or near the healers,” Claude comments with a scoff, clearly not thinking much of the nobles’ irrelevant and stupid questions, “so you’re my hero.”

Claude grins, but his eyes are quick and calculating while Dimitri lets out a snort of air through his nose that could almost be a derisive laugh. _Nobles_. The Alliance ones will bother Claude for just about anything - not that the Kingdom nobility is much better, but at least the men under his banner will talk to Rodrigue or the Margrave before approaching him with anything as trivial as that.

But that just goes to show how differently the Alliance operates versus the other territories. They're oft described as squabbling nobles and after seeing them in action for the past few months, Dimitri can't disagree - and of course, Claude is constantly at the center of it all. It takes a true genius and expert in political matters to manage the lot of them, and Dimitri has been impressed on more than one occasion at just how effortlessly Claude has been able to deflect, mitigate, and mediate the endless arguments that seem to arise from them all.

“Tell the next one to make their camp in the damned bog,” He shoots back, exasperated. It earns him a bright laugh from Claude, which serves to make him… well, slightly less exasperated.

“I’d like to see the looks on their faces.” 

The mud is sucking to his boots now, but the hill will have firmer ground for the tents. He can start to make out the yellow peaks of Claude's allies, with the various banners perched outside of each. 

Dimitri realizes a bit belatedly that he should have made camp with his own nobility, but... in truth, they're probably relieved to be rid of him for a few hours. Most of the planning is done anyway, and he's aware by now that Dedue and Mercedes have figured out that the best way to find him is to look for Claude.

So they can find him if they need him, he gets his solitude, _and_ he gets to be near Claude (which doesn't count as breaking his solitude, he has decided). Most of the Golden Deer don't bother him for much - they don't need to, he's not _their_ leader - and they seem fairly savvy on being able to determine whether or not they can bother Claude while Dimitri is with him.

He's not sure _how_ they're developing that sense. As far as he knows, he and Claude have been discreet in this odd and passionate relationship that they've tumbled into, but he's thankful not to be disturbed all the same.

The Golden Deer camp is a loose collection of tents without much apparent planning, just like the class themselves had been. But a closer look shows that the warriors - Raphael, Hilda, Leonie - are arranged around the outer edge, in position to take the brunt of any sudden attack, while the healers and mages are inside. Claude is at the center of course, as the army would simply fall apart without him.

But there is space next to his tent. Maybe deliberate, maybe hopeful, or maybe they just figured Claude needed a little space after dealing with people all day.

“Is right here okay?” Claude asks, gesturing to the space. Dimitri's tent will have to be pretty close to Claude, but - well, that's kind of the whole point, isn't it?

“It's fine.”

Though Dimitri notices the layout of the camp, he doesn't say much about it, wheeling his horse around and giving it the command to stay still while he unloads the necessities from the saddlebags it's been carrying. 

Collapsible poles, long swathes of canvas fabric in dark blue, posts to hammer into the ground and a hammer to do it with, an extra bag with various travel items, and a bedroll - Dimitri doesn't need more than that, despite Rodrigue's insistence that he take more equipment or have a better bed be transported in one of the carriages. It's simply easier if all of his equipment can be carried by a single horse, and so while the other Kingdom nobles have a large and luxurious camp, Dimitri's own setup could almost be mistaken for a commoner's, if it wasn't for the Blaiddyd emblem painted into the fabric.

He works on compiling everything first, handing Claude the stakes and the hammer so he can get started while Dimitri steers his horse away to tie up with the others. He doesn't take long though and notices that none of Claude's inner circle seem to be keen on bothering him or even saying hello, which he attributes to his general sour demeanor. With Claude at work, he starts to extend the poles out, twisting the metal to lock it in place.

Dimitri is quiet as he kneels down to secure the poles to the ground, tying them quickly with a thin cord. He thinks about Claude here helping him and thinks about how they had to stop and about how it sets back their plans by a third of a day - not much, not anything insurmountable, but it's so _soon_ that any setback feels like the end of the world.

He grits his teeth together and ties the next pole a little too tight.

“We're almost there.” He's stating the obvious. They both know the real reason he's so tense and it has little to do with the marsh or the horses. “I want to move out at sunrise tomorrow.”

Claude watches him and says nothing for a time, though Dimitri can tell that he’s thinking on something, calculating something out in that smooth and thoughtful way of his. Dimitri has felt his eyes on him throughout most of their short walk to the camp and conversation and he doesn’t know what it means but he can guess that it has something to do with his own sour mood. He hasn’t been very kind toward Claude and while he feels guilty for that, there’s not much he can do except try to let himself be soothed by him, if Claude is even interested in that sort of thing.

“If the ground's dry, we will,” Claude murmurs, glancing up toward the sky. There aren't any rainclouds above anymore, so they should be fine. “With the extra rest everyone's getting tonight, we should be able to make good time. You should rest a little more, too. Have you eaten?”

These are small things, Dimitri recognizes. Tiny, acceptable shows of concern because they can’t be close to one another, because Dimitri is as likely to snarl Claude away as he is to embrace him.

He shakes his head at the question - he's not hungry, he hasn't been hungry since they've started their march. He's had a few things here and there, bites of dried meat and bread, but he doesn't think he's had much of that today, especially not since they made the call to stop.

“No. I haven't thought about it.”

On some level, he realizes that Claude is trying to take care of him. With the tent setting up and the offer of food and the gentle and easy ways Claude moves around him, in his personal space without being overbearing.... A whole army to tend to, a sea of decisions and people who need him to do a hundred more tasks, and Claude takes the time to take care of him.

Dimitri wishes he could be annoyed by it, but he's not. He wants to fold himself into Claude's chest and breathe through the sickness of his anticipation, he wants to talk about what Lambert and Glenn are saying to the only person who won't think him insane for saying it, he wants to be close to him and try to let Claude take more of this burden off of his shoulders, he wants to roar and bite and pummel himself against Claude, who he knows will not break at the sight of his ferocity.

For now, he settles with setting up his tent in Claude's proximity, the other man's presence like a small bandage trying to hold together a gushing wound. It's - it's helpful, he's _trying_, but it's not enough, not yet.

“I don't want to eat too much,” he admits in a low voice, so that no one can overhear them, “I might be sick with it.”

Claude nods, considering that, accepting it without judgement or argument. “I'll make tea, then. And I've got some dried fruit in my tent. Maybe we can share it.”

It's more small things: the warmth and relaxing properties of tea, a bite to eat that will at least give Dimitri a bit of energy. It's also, somewhat obviously, an invitation to join Claude in his tent. And if he's making tea, it'll be clear to others that's why Dimitri is joining him too. It's a rather simple fiction, but in times like these, that will be enough.

Plenty of their comrades are also spending the evening together, drinking and chatting and trying to take the edge off. Why should they be different?

“While you finish up, I'll get it ready.” Claude reaches out, grips Dimitri's arm for a moment. It's a casual touch, nothing that two comrades in war wouldn't share, but there’s intent behind it. Meaning. Dimitri looks up from under the fringe of his hair and Claude isn’t smiling anymore but he looks… open. Welcoming, sympathetic in a way that doesn’t feel patronizing.

Dimitri has to accept and he nods. As much as he'd growl and snap at anyone else who would offer something as silly as _tea_, it... actually sounds quite nice, especially with the small amount of food to go with it, and of course, Claude's company. Claude just has a way of calming him somehow, so much so that even a few short minutes in his presence like this makes Dimitri feel a little more at ease, a little more willing to talk.

He continues working on the tent while Claude leaves, making sure that everything is tied down and moving inside once it's ready to lay down the ground covering and then his bedroll over it, with the other small assortment of supplies and clothes he's packed. Dimitri takes the moment there to unclasp his muddied cloak and lay it out so it has a chance to dry to be brushed off in the morning. After a moment's hesitation, he strips out of his boots and armor too, unable to stop himself from feeling the slight relief as the literal weight of it leaves him.

Most of the grime was on the upper layers of his clothing, and so he doesn't bother to change out of the black padded material he wears under his armor. Dimitri loosens the ties as his wrists and waist to feel a bit more comfortable, but otherwise he's not really dressing to impress, particularly not when others in the camp will see him walking over to Claude's tent. It's normal to dress down after a long day of travel, though, everyone does it.

Before he can think any further on it, Dimitri leaves his tent, letting the flap fall back over the opening before moving toward Claude's just adjacent to him, and tugs at the fabric covering the entryway.

“It's done.”

Dimitri assumes that Claude has nothing to hide - and also, he's a bit rude - so he comes right in, glancing around at how Claude keeps this sort of place.

On a march like this, Claude can't bring all his books and maps and notes, although he does have a few neatly stacked on a small table and a few more bags with clothing, food, and his bow and arrows in another. It's neater than his room at the monastery because of that.

Unlike Dimitri though, he does use the privilege his position gives him to bring along some extra comforts. Rather than a simple ground covering, he has thick carpets spread across the floor of his tent, cushioning the ground and keeping things warm. There's also an array of pillows of various sizes scattered around. There's no cot, but rather some blankets folded near the side of the tent, giving the impression that when Claude sleeps he'll just wrap himself in them and fall asleep wherever.

It seems… nomadic almost, and Dimitri has never been to Almyra, but he thinks he can see some influences in how Claude chooses to organize his space.

It's comfortable, more than anything. Claude looks up when Dimitri comes in and smiles from behind his table, where he’s got the tea steeping in a small teapot.

“I haven't had tea in years,” Dimitri admits, smelling it in the air.

“I'd scold you for not taking care of yourself, but I'm pretty sure it'd go in one ear and out the other.”

Claude’s voice is light, teasing. He watches Dimitri as he moves inside and lowers the tent flap behind him, not at all trying to hide the fact that he’s admiring the view.

“I don't think that my teatime frequency is an indication of how well I take care of myself,” Dimitri shoots back. Which is true, but also... Dimitri doesn't take proper care of himself and they both know it. Now that Dedue is here, he's seen to more of Dimitri's needs when he forgets, but even he can't force the wayward prince to eat or sleep more often than necessary, and it seems like he can't make Dimitri pack a more elegant sleeping arrangement or a larger tent either.

“Sit down,” Claude says, exasperated, going for the pot, “I'll pour you some.”

Dimitri is appreciative of the environment as he moves closer, sitting down at Claude's urging with his feet tucked underneath him. It's a very cozy kind of place and Dimitri finds that he enjoys the aesthetic of it. It seems to represent Claude in a way that he can't quite put a finger on, but a way that satisfies him all the same and makes him feel just a bit more comfortable.

He'd taken care to sit right next to Claude rather than across from him as another lord or noble might, but he doesn't move in for a kiss or anything of the sort quite yet. He's still thinking about the march, about how long it's going to take to pack up in the morning, and how worse off they'll be if it rains again. He's thinking that if they'd gone a month ago, after Fort Merceus and before all of the Kingdom reinforcements showed up at Garreg Mach, the ground might have been more agreeable and they could have ended the war there and then.

Probably not, but it's something he thinks about.

Just like he thinks about Edelgard at Gronder Field, the way she seemed to look straight through him, as if what she'd done to him meant nothing to her. He thinks about taking her head and putting it on a pike and mounting it on her throne, but it doesn't give him the same satisfaction that it used to.

Here, sitting next to Claude, he just feels _tired_. They've come so far to get here and he's had to change in so many different ways, to work with others again and to think like a general again and to care _so much_, and there's still so far to go... just the thought of it makes him weary and Dimitri slowly sags into Claude, leaning his weight against his side with his head tipping to rest on the other man's shoulder.

He sighs, his eye drifting shut.

“The dead are running out of patience.”

Claude struggles to pour the tea under the new weight on him but doesn’t move to unsettle Dimitri, instead responding flippantly, as if it’s completely normal to talk about such things.

“I don't see why. They're dead, they have all the time in the world.”

Claude's response could have easily sent him into a fit of rage, but Dimitri only snorts out a short, irreverent laugh. It feels sacrilegious almost and he knows he's going to regret laughing at Claude's flippancy later, but right now making light of the situation helps to relieve some of the tension that comes from it and he finds that as long as it's Claude who's saying it then it's hard to get angry.

Claude seems to understand that he’s pushed things maybe about as far as they can go, so he pulls back a little, tries for reassurance instead:

“We're almost there. I promise, I'll get you there as quickly as I safely can.” He turns his head so he can press a kiss to Dimitri's hair, which is all he can reach right now. “I promise.”

When it's Claude that promises him things, Dimitri somehow has to believe him.

'As quickly as he safely can' feels like Claude is trying to wrap words around this problem again, like if he can say enough of the right things without technically lying then Dimitri will just go along with whatever he says. It isn't even untrue either, and while there's a skeptical part of him that scoffs at it, the rest of him just feels warmer from being able to tuck Claude's promise somewhere in the back of his mind, where he can revisit it when he's angry about this taking so long.

Dimitri nuzzles into Claude's shoulder a bit more, ignoring his tea for now and reaching out to slip his fingers against Claude's own, their arms pressed together.

“Everything is going to change.”

Everything already has. That's war and they both know it - but it will change even more than this, regardless of who wins and who dies. Going into a battle where nothing is assured is bad enough, but knowing that if all goes well and they win... knowing that then, Claude will make him king and stay for a time before going away to Almyra? Knowing that he can't steal away hours with Claude like he does now, knowing that he'll likely have to stay in Fhirdiad while Claude rides south to prepare and help rebuild, knowing that they'll be separated sooner than Claude wants him to believe...

There's such a strange sense of anticipation and dread coiled in his gut and he doesn't know what to do with it. He needs to kill Edelgard more than anything else in his life, and he _wants_ to bring positive change to their country, but knowing that doing so will unearth the clumsy stability that he's finally managed to find... the conflict makes him feel sick, which makes him feel guilty, which just makes him angry again.

He's tired of it.

Claude tangles their fingers together, leaning into him in return now, taking some small comfort out of their contact.

“It hasn't changed yet.”

Slowly, Claude raises their tangled fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to Dimitri's pale, strong hand.

“We have tonight. There's nowhere to go, and I'm not going to leave your side.”

Claude's mouth is warm on his hand and his words fill Dimitri with a kind of longing that he hadn't known he could feel. _Tonight_, Claude says, and all the possibilities start to leak into his mind like a painting in progress - the shadows of Claude's skin, where his elbow crooks, the warm pulse at his neck, the softest edge of the inside of his thigh meeting his groin.

It isn't over yet. None of this is over yet and as much as that tears Dimitri to pieces, Claude's words also excite him and Dimitri smiles to himself before tipping his head so he can lean in and kiss at the forbidden angle of Claude's throat.

The marks he'd left last time are all faded now, as they haven't had much time alone together since the armies had started preparing in earnest for the march. Dimitri likes to think about his teeth worrying bruises into Claude's skin when he's alone, he likes to imagine that a part of him will always be there as long as Claude has that point of pain and the reminder of what Dimitri did to him. It's animalistic, he knows, but he doesn't think that either of them care.

“I'm yours tonight,” he promises against his ear, because he knows that Claude is his too. Dimitri leans further in to get his teeth at the edge where shoulder meets throat and nips at him, not hard enough to leave a mark, not yet, but - teasing at the idea all the same.

They should probably drink their tea. They should probably eat, since Dimitri hasn't really today. But he can't help himself when Claude is so close.

“If you'll help me forget about everything else, I'll just be here, with you.”

Claude smiles and it seems like a genuine smile this time as he tilts his head, allowing Dimitri more access to his neck. As much as Dimitri seems to like leaving marks on him, Claude never complains - in fact, he encourages it in actions like this and how he’s been wearing a lot more outfits with high collars lately.

“That's what I want,” he murmurs, setting his teacup down on the table and turning his whole body towards Dimitri, moving both of them, so that Dimitri is in his arms rather than leaning on his shoulder. So he's facing Dimitri, so he can actually kiss him, long and slow and _wanting._

Everything will change. But right now, they're here, they're together. Claude can be his and he can be Claude’s, and just for a little while they can pretend that nothing else in the world matters.

“I want to be the only thing you're thinking about,” Claude tells him, which Dimitri doesn’t think is entirely possible, but is a nice thing to want. Claude has a way of filling his mind and his heart, pushing the anger and the rage out until it’s muted, black and white in the back of his mind while Claude’s touch is an explosion of color.

And so Dimitri nods weakly, returning the kiss with warmth and pressing forward until he's practically crawling into Claude's lap. He's not quite so filthy-minded yet - even when he's thinking about the hidden and sensitive places on Claude's body, Dimitri generally considers them with more reverence than arousal: the perfect curve of his shoulder, the delicate lines of his ankle, the chiseled firmness of his cock. He worships Claude, they worship one another, and he could be content to just touch him sweetly like this for hours.

That's how it starts. Sometimes it stays that way throughout the entire encounter, sometimes Dimitri is taken with a need to _own_ and possess and he pushes and pulls and bites to get what he wants and Claude never seems to mind.

For now though, he's content enough to kiss him sweetly, his fingers at Claude's hip, his mind on Claude's words and when he closes his eye, Edelgard seems so far away.

But always there. Always like a shadow in the back of his mind.

“I only ever want to think about you.”

He murmurs it against Claude's lips and it’s true enough that he would much rather be spending his time in Claude's presence, against Claude's skin, nipping grapes from his long and slender fingers. When he's feeling particularly indulgent he thinks about a different life, where Claude is king of Almyra and Dimitri could be nothing but his consort, there to satisfy him and love him and live for him - such an easy life, he thinks, and he's envious that he's never had the chance at such blissful simplicity.

But he can't. He can't only focus on Claude, not with the responsibility that Claude himself has given him, not with the voices in the back of his mind, and not with Edelgard still drawing breath. He wants to... but he can't.

“I hate everything that takes you away from me.”

Claude leans into Dimitri, reaching down to catch hold of the hem of Dimitri's shirt and adjusting them both enough so he can tug it up and help Dimitri get it off. He's not hurried - not yet, anyway. Claude seems more than happy to let Dimitri dictate the pace here, as Dimitri has done for the majority of… well, whatever this is.

“Tonight I'm all yours,” Claude says, reassuring as he leans in again to kiss Dimitri's neck and nips at the skin there. He doesn't usually leave marks on Dimitri, but 'usually' doesn't mean 'never'. “I've been thinking about you all day.”

With that, he kisses Dimitri's shoulder, a scar stretching down from it, his collarbone. When Dimitri feels _teeth_, he gasps, reaching for anything on Claude that he can touch, hooking one hand around his shoulder and the other pressed palm-flat against the ground to keep them both balanced.

“You have?”

It's mostly a rhetorical question. Dimitri can't say the same, but he's flattered nevertheless, even moreso when Claude tongues at the scar he'd gotten from the Death Knight. It's not painful, but recent enough that the new magically-healed tissue is still slightly sensitive and he lets out a small sound in response, arching slightly into him.

“...what have you been thinking about?”

He's sure that it's more along the lines of 'Dimitri is an ass' and 'Dimitri is causing problems' and less along the lines of what Claude wants to do to him right now, but... well, they can both pretend. Regardless, he does love to hear Claude talk about him: Claude's feelings for him, his fantasies, what he's thought about... it makes him feel wanted, it makes him feel like as long as Claude is still there and Dimitri is in his thoughts then he's done _something_ right by someone.

It's the same reason he leaves marks, the same reason he tries to take Claude's breath away every time they're alone together. Dimitri doesn't quite think that Claude could ever forget him, not really, but the more he's on his mind, the better.

They're still next to the table, but there's enough pillows and lush rugs on the ground around them that Dimitri feels comfortable enough leaning backward and pulling Claude with him so that they can both lay together instead of the awkward half-sitting that they were doing. He takes care not to elbow the other man while he brings him down and takes an even greater care not to distract Claude from the wonderful things he's doing against Dimitri's chest.

His fingers sneak into Claude's shirt now that it's a bit more accessible, not trying to take it off of him quite yet, but slipping up to feel the lines of his ribs and the muscles at his stomach.

“I was thinking about how I'd get you into my tent,” Claude tells him in a low, tempting whisper. “I was thinking about whether you'd let me touch you. The way you taste when I kiss you... the way your cock feels in my hand.”

Claude never seems to be embarrassed to tell Dimitri exactly what he wants and how he feels. He normalizes it, makes it standard, and makes Dimitri know exactly how much he wants him. He continues now, his voice soft as he works his way slowly down Dimitri’s chest again, kissing scars, running his hand down his ribs - tasting, exploring, and it’s all Dimitri can do to arch just slightly into the light, teasing touch, to spread his legs so that Claude can rest between his thighs.

“I thought about what it might be like to take you up into the air, touch you as we flew.” Claude kisses him then, long and slow, just like his leisurely explorations and Dimitri presses a fluttering hand to his jaw. The next part he says against Dimitri’s mouth, now that he has Dimitri’s entire and undivided attention, “I thought about following you when you left, following you into the trees, pushing you up against one, getting on my knees and sucking you off.”

And Claude pulls back, damn him, and smiles that infuriating teasing smile of it and Dimitri is already hard, already _wanting_.

“...but I figured you weren't in the right mood.”

Damn him. Dimitri has to restrain himself from just _lunging_ at him then, and he hooks his fingers on the hem of Claude’s shirt, wanting it off, wanting to be as close as he can possibly get to him, and when it’s off he tosses it to the side, forgotten in the moment of pressing Claude back against him.

“I don't know if I could ever be in the wrong mood for that.”

Well... he's lying and Claude was right, but right now it seems like the most desirable thing he can imagine, having Claude in the trees like that, on his knees and - they haven't, they've only been together like this a few times amidst all the preparation for war, and while Dimitri won't deny that he's _thought_ about it, most of the time when he gets Claude alone he just thinks about using his mouth for kissing and their hands for everything else they might need.

Which has been amazing and he has no complaints, but he does think about it, putting his mouth on Claude, having Claude touch him like that... and as much as he wants this to last, he also thinks that it's a very good idea.

“...would you- here?” He asks, breaking their kiss to look up toward Claude, flushing a little that he has to ask, but wanting it enough to push through how embarrassing it is. “Use your mouth, I mean. I've thought about it too - I want to.”

“Yes,” Claude answers, too fast, too eager, and that lights up something wholly new in Dimitri, the idea that not only has Claude _thought_ about this, but he’s eager for it, that he wants - he wants this with just as much of an intensity as he does.

“I would,” he clarifies, “I want to-” Claude raises a hand to touch Dimitri's cheek, stroke a thumb across his lips.

“...I want to know how you taste.”

Dimitri groans softly at that, opening his mouth and pressing the flat of his tongue against Claude's thumb. He draws him in, offers him the barest hint of teeth and suction, and for a moment, allows himself to imagine it, being on his knees for Claude. Claude on his knees for him, kneeling like one might do to pledge servitude, with Dimitri's cock in his mouth and he _wants_ to be there - fuck.

His head tips back and he breathes, letting Claude's thumb slide out of his mouth. He feels too warm for this, despite the cool evening air in Claude's tent.

“Okay,” he murmurs, breathless, “Okay.”

If this is happening, he thinks it should probably happen soon. As much as he loves kissing over Claude's body and exploring him and learning him in long, slow minutes, Dimitri feels acutely like he might not last much longer if Claude wants to keep talking to him like _this_, and he wants to at least feel... this, what Claude is talking about doing. He still doesn't want Claude to move away from him and he leans up to press another kiss against the other man's mouth, pulling Claude down with him to lay fully flat on his back against the blankets. He does this so that he can use both hands to get between them, clumsily palming against Claude's cock through the fabric of his pants, feeling his need pressing into his hand - and while he may have been slightly concerned that Claude is doing this solely for Dimitri's enjoyment... well, he's not worried about that anymore.

His fingers scramble to the hem of Claude's pants then, shoving a hand down beneath the fabric just to _touch_ him. Dimitri hasn't forgotten what he wanted to do, what they're both going to do, but in the heat of the moment it's so hard _not_ to touch him.

“You're hard just telling me about it.” His voice is soft, panting between kisses. Dimitri has never entertained the idea of being good at talking filthy and so when he says things like this, it's more awestruck than anything, like Claude is this miracle of a person and keeps giving him all these wonderful surprises that Dimitri can't quite fully believe.

His hand is cramped and there's not a lot of space so he allows himself a few short and jerky half-strokes while his free hand starts to work at loosening the hem to give himself some more room to work with.

“Are you - are you going to touch yourself while you do it?”

Claude sighs in pleasure, a stuttering, pleased sound, taking care not to press too far into Dimitri’s fingers, lest he lose himself in the sensation.

“Yeah,” he moans out, trying to catch his breath, “though if you keep doing that, I probably won't have to.”

He reaches down, undoing the ties of Dimitri's pants in turn, but doesn’t move to touch him quite yet. Instead, he reaches to catch hold of Dimitri’s wrist, teeth biting into his lower lip as he urges him down, away, and Dimitri feels a flush of embarrassment for getting so carried away that he’d _needed_ to touch Claude so urgently in the first place.

“Just lay back,” Claude reassures, “let me take care of you.”

At Claude’s insistence, Dimitri moves back against a small pile of pillows and works at tugging his pants down to free him from the confinement of fabric until he's completely naked in Claude's tent - Claude's tent that hopefully everyone around knows not to come into because it's not like there's a lock on the door or anything... but Dimitri pushes that thought from his mind, instead choosing to focus on this handsome creature above him. Claude kisses Dimitri's shoulder again, down his chest, stopping to suck lightly at his nipples before continuing. 

This time he doesn't stop at Dimitri's stomach. He moves further down, pressing kisses to his abdomen, his thighs. Still not _quite_ there yet. Claude is teasing a bit, or he's taking his time, or he's doing a little of both.

Dimitri has to bite his lip to hold back a whimper, remembering the thin fabric of the tent wall and trying to restrain himself, but Claude's mouth is already down there and he's already kissing at the sensitive skin of his thighs and it's making Dimitri go crazy with want. He has instructions to lay back but he just can't help reaching down for Claude's face, taking his cheek lovingly in his hand and stroking his thumb along the other man's cheekbone. He's so beautiful, Dimitri can scarcely believe he's _his._

“Claude…” It comes out soft, needy, because Claude is _teasing_ now and Dimitri's hips roll up slightly without him really meaning to, and he feels impossibly hard, incredibly desperate for him - for any part of him, for anything that he'd choose to give. His mouth feels dry while he watches Claude, his messy hair, his firm shoulders, the way his fingers and mouth move, everything about him that seems so precise and yet so wild.

“Please.”

Claude smiles at that - that he’s already started pleading with him for it, that he’s already so far gone - and turns his head to press a kiss against Dimitri's palm, a soft, sweet thing.

Then he wraps his hand around the base of Dimitri's shaft, firm without being too tight, licks his lips, and takes the head of Dimitri's cock into his mouth.

Dimitri might have said something once - surely there was something he wanted to say, maybe about how wonderful Claude is and how much he wants to stay here like this forever and how lovely he looks - but everything is pushed from his mind the moment Claude's lips touch his cock and he _licks_ and his mouth is warm and sweet and wet and it makes Dimitri press upward even though he knows he shouldn't.

It's enough to make him want to cry out to the goddess, and Dimitri's other hand moves over his mouth to keep himself quiet while Claude works his divine tongue and his amazing fingers around him. His palm is still pressed against Claude's face, warm from the kiss, and he can feel the other man's jaw opening, moving in turn with the mindless pleasure that's coursing through him and he wants - he needs, there's nothing he wouldn't happily give to Claude right now.

Claude takes more of him in, sliding his tongue against the underside of Dimitri's shaft, making a soft sound of appreciation as he does so, and the vibration is enough to make Dimitri gasp.

“You're so…” He doesn't know what. Dimitri looks down at him, lets his fingers slide up to tangle in Claude's hair and watches, enraptured as Claude dips down again and takes more of him, seemingly calm, casual, like he has all the time in the world... or maybe that's just how Dimitri sees him in that moment, so in contrast with his small, desperate movements.

“...You're beautiful. I could watch you forever. I could-”

Dimitri eventually trails off in a breathless moan, trying to keep himself in check - they're not truly alone at this campsite, he has to remind himself, even if just the sound of his ragged breathing is suggestive enough that anyone who overhears him will know exactly what's going on. He would hope that there's nobody around, but at this point he doesn't care. Anything that isn't Claude between his legs with his perfect, hot mouth on him, is superfluous. This is all that matters now.

Claude takes Dimitri deeper, bobbing his head now, a little clumsy at first but quickly finding a smooth rhythm, in time with his hand at the base of Dimitri's shaft. His other hand fumbles with the waistband of his pants, pushing past the fabric and wrapping around his own arousal, hard and hot and needy. He moans at that first touch, and it's probably lucky that he's rather muffled right now, because that could have been loud.

Claude is stunning in all of his aching need and Dimitri can see now the way that this is affecting him too, his hurried hand jerking at his cock, and Dimitri wants to - part of him wishes that it were him bringing Claude off like this, but the rest of him can't imagine existing anywhere other than under his mouth.

Claude doesn't quite seem to have the composure to stroke himself in time with Dimitri - he can barely do more than wrap a hand around himself and messily jerk himself off, but that's enough for both of them it seems. Dimitri's fingers in his hair guiding him, the harsh breathing and slick, wet sounds in the hollow of the tent, the slide of Dimitri’s cock past Claude's lips, there's nothing more they need than this.

Dimitri doesn't mean to pull at Claude's hair but he does, his fingers tangled in the dark curls of it as the urgency rises and Claude moves faster - he wants to see all of what he's doing, he wants to watch Claude's wrist disappear into his pants, wants to see the reddening around his mouth from kisses and bites and this, wants to see him flushed and messy with his need, but all Dimitri can do is hold on tighter, sinking his teeth into his palm with a desperate sound as he comes.

Dimitri doesn't exactly have the presence of mind to warn him, nor does he really have the experience to know that it's necessary and there's a pang of guilt that he'd forgotten the moment it begins but it's quickly washed away in the eclipsing pleasure of Claude's mouth, his hand, the memory of his tongue on him. Dimitri lifts a leg to press his foot flat against the blankets near Claude's side, using it as leverage to roll his body with the motion of it while he spends himself in shallow gasps and whimpers.

Claude manages to swallow most of it and doesn’t choke on it despite not being warned, instead working quickly to take all that Dimitri could give him, his hand working harder over himself, pulling his mouth off of Dimitri’s cock to rest his face in the crook of his hip with a soft cry as he comes all over his fingers and stomach.

When it's over, Dimitri slumps back against the pillows behind him, his eyes closed, the hand over his mouth moving up to push his hair back from where he'd carelessly let it fall over his face a few moments ago.

“-sorry,” he apologizes belatedly, a little breathless, “you were just so…”

Dimitri takes in a long breath and waves his hand flightily, as if trying to describe how intense and amazing that was - how wondrous Claude himself is - with a simple twitch of his fingers.

Claude seems to understand and smiles, pressing a warm kiss to the top of his thigh before moving to stand.

“You're amazing,” Claude tells him, voice rough with what he’d just done. He retrieves a skin of water and a cloth to clean them off, sauntering partially naked across the tent in a way that demands Dimitri's complete attention. Once he's slightly more presentable - though his lips are still red and his hair still a mess - he smiles at Dimitri.

“That was... yeah. I liked that.”

Dimitri reaches down for his pants and slides them back on before scooting upward to curl into Claude's pillows, patting the spot next to him for Claude to join him. He feels sated, pleased, and for the moment, Edelgard is blissfully absent from his mind. All he can really think about is the warmth of Claude's mouth and hands and how he looked down there between Dimitri's legs with his hand wrapped around himself, flushed and panting and soft press of his mouth against Dimitri's thigh when he found his release.

“I hardly did much,” he responds, a little lighthearted as he shifts so that Claude can be comfortable against him. The tea is cold by now, he thinks, but there might still be some hope for food - and now that Dimitri has exerted himself in this way, he's starting to feel the soft pangs of hunger at his stomach. Soon, he thinks, because now he just wants to press close against this wonderful man and bask in the pleasure of simply being near him.

“I enjoyed it too.” Dimitri tells him, as if that wasn't obvious. “Maybe... next time, I want to do it to you.”

Claude snags a blanket before relaxing with Dimitri against the pillows. He turns toward Dimitri once they’re both situated, sliding an arm around his waist, leaning into his shoulder. Letting himself enjoy the moment, warm and content, as if the world outside this tent doesn't exist. 

“I'm not going to say no to that,” he murmurs on a sleepy smile, pressing a lazy kiss to Dimitri's shoulder. “You still want some tea?”

“Don't want you to get up to make it.”

“Come on, come on, you need to eat,” Claude says on a laugh and turns to reach for his pack, which is thankfully nearby and has some bits of dried food in it. Dimitri sighs at the inevitability of Claude taking care of him, but he supposes that it is why they’re in Claude’s tent in the first place.

As they both slowly chew on Claude’s field rations, Dimitri pulls him closer, settling in warmly beside him.

They've slept next to one another in the past, though Dimitri has always been careful to be out of Claude's room by the time anyone wakes up. He doesn't think he'll have that luxury here in tents, where others have to keep watch and could see him clearly leaving Claude's tent at any hour of the night. Which means that he either stays for the entire night and sneaks out when the others are distracted with the morning duties or he leaves before it gets too late.

The idea of spending the night alone is a dangerous one, he knows, and it would be easy for him to fall back into his destructive mindset that he's been in for most of the day. Claude's presence is like a balm that eases his rage and makes the voices that he hears softer, lighter, further away. With Claude, it's easier to focus on the present reality and less on the looming threat of Edelgard or the past injustices that have been done to him.

So then, he should stay. It doesn't take Dimitri much to convince himself about it.

“Is it alright if I stayed the night? You'll have to invent some scheme to get me out of your tent without the others noticing in the morning.”

“Easy.” Claude says quickly with a grin. Dimitri would doubt him, except - this is Claude they’re talking about. Small schemes like this are his specialty. “'Course you can stay.”

And so it’s settled. Dimitri sighs, feels himself relaxing against Claude while they eat together, thinks about how much Claude has managed to change him just like this, to talk him down, to bring him close, and to give him something else to put his mind on. Claude is _good_ for him, Dimitri is coming to realize, and while that’s terrifying for a number of reasons, it’s also nice to lay here and bask in how happy it makes him, just now, just for this.

They spend the rest of the night like that: eating, talking, eventually making that tea and getting to bed early so that they can be up at sunrise, as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would a Three Houses fic be without a teatime scene?
> 
> As a note, this chapter and the next is a two-parter. It was way too long to fit into one!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri are able to steal a peaceful morning before the march on Enbarr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I PROMISE there will be plot next chapter. This chapter and the last were originally one, but due to it getting... really really long... we split them up. After this things are back on track, though!

The sun has barely risen and Claude wakes to Dimitri next to him, still asleep, peaceful in the dim light of the tent. A large part of Claude doesn’t want to wake him, doesn’t want to bring him back to the reality of where they are, doesn’t want the day to begin.

They’ll resume their march in a few hours. Outside, only a few have woken so they still have some time. Claude wonders if Dimitri will sink into the same mood he was in the day before, that anger and impatience, that terrible tension. It’s likely, he thinks. All he can do is make sure this day begins well.

He can probably put Dimitri in a pretty decent mood if he tries.

Claude rises and leaves the tent only long enough to retrieve some food - bread and dried fruit, nothing fancy, but the bread is fresh and the fruit he already knows Dimitri will be able to keep down even if his anger twists him into knots. When he returns, Dimitri is awake.

“Morning,” Claude says with a smile, and as Dimitri rubs the sleep from his eyes he pulls the small table over, sets their breakfast on it, and returns to exactly where he was before - by Dimitri’s side, close enough to feel his warmth.

“Eat something. Actually - come here.” Claude leans back against the pillows, still smiling, his voice light. “I'll feed you.”

Dimitri, awake and alert now, arches an eyebrow at that, both playful and a little incredulous at the offer to feed him. He seems to consider it for a quick moment or two before reluctantly moving closer, crawling up toward Claude and moving to sit beside him, pressing a lazy kiss against his jaw and nuzzling in further until he's tonguing at Claude's throat again.

“I'd ask if you were joking, but…” It's clear that Claude's not, despite how playful he's being with it. And Dimitri - surprisingly - doesn't seem to mind. 

He has to pull off of Claude's throat to actually eat, but he's sure to press his teeth against his shoulder first, biting down with a sharp inhale and busying himself with sucking a deep mark into Claude's skin while the other man tries to arrange the food he’s brought and ignore Dimitri's cruel distraction.

When Claude brandishes the first small piece of bread, Dimitri hums to himself against the bruise before finally pulling away and admiring his work, the constellation of darker marks he's left on Claude's tanned skin both the night before and now. But then Claude offers him the bite and Dimitri leans in to take it in his mouth, his tongue pressing against the warmth of Claude's hand.

He chews and swallows dutifully, before tipping his head to look toward Claude with a small, tight smile that looks as if he's about to burst into laughter at any moment.

“Are you happy now?”

A smile from Dimitri is enough to stop Claude's heart, a laugh would probably outright kill him. He strokes the back of his now-empty fingers against Dimitri's cheek, affectionate, smiling.

“Oh, I'm getting there,” he says.

He selects another piece of fruit, holds it out. A good part of Claude is amazed Dimitri is playing along - it wasn't so very long ago that he had to keep bars between them, that Dimitri nearly killed him. He remembers it well, that feeling of facing down a feral animal. And it's not gone, things haven't changed that much, it's more that - Claude doesn't fear that being turned on him.

Oh, Dimitri can be angry, can snap at him. At other times he's - hungry, demanding, as intent as a predator. He leaves marks on Claude every time they're together, no matter how gentle or rough they are with each other. And Claude has seen him in battle, as fierce and ferocious as his house's crest, but if anything more dangerous. But here and now, with that smile on his face, his willingness to indulge Claude's playful nature and eat delicately from his hand, Claude is reminded of nothing more than a tamed wolf.

It's likely foolish to think like that. Dimitri is not tame, Claude knows better than to test the limits of whatever control he might have over this man. But for whatever reason, Dimitri sees fit to allow him this intimacy, to lay at Claude's side and come to him for comfort and hungry caresses and whatever else he might need.

Claude does not think anyone else has ever gotten to see this side of Dimitri, and for a moment he is seized with the awareness of how fleeting this could be, how easily he could lose all of it. A stray sword blow, a well-aimed arrow, or simply the collapse that could happen after Edelgard's death, after Dimitri finally gets what he's been living for. This, this moment, this feeling, is delicate and might be impossible to preserve. Claude wants to burn it into his memory, so regardless of what might happen, he'll never forget.

“I wish I had something better to give you. Fresh fruit. Chocolates.”

Dimitri smiles at Claude's silliness and nips the fruit from his hands, calm and careful not to bite at Claude's fingers (which is amusing in and of itself, considering how much he's bitten at other parts of him).

“It wouldn't matter,” Dimitri tells him, after he's chewed and swallowed the small morsel, “I haven't tasted a thing since I was a child. It isn't a hardship. Just -” he flushes but continues on anyway, indulgent, “- it's enough to share this with you.”

Claude strokes Dimitri's cheek again, and though he's smiling, there's a hint of sadness in his eyes now. He didn't know that, though he supposes there was no reason for him to know before now. If Dimitri doesn't see it as a hardship, neither will Claude (indeed, Claude can think of many situations where it would be useful), but it still doesn't seem fair.

Dimitri has been through so much - too much. Claude has always believed that the best way to deal with the weight of hatred, loneliness, pain is to shrug it off, stand tall, and fight to keep it from dragging you down. But he knows well that it's easier to say that than to do it, and Dimitri is so close to his pain, still drowning in it despite moments like these. Maybe after Edelgard he'll have a chance to heal. If he survives it.

But with all that, something like this on top of it - just doesn't seem fair.

Instead of another piece of fruit, Claude guides Dimitri's lips to his own, kissing him - sweet, sweet as he can.

“If I'd known that in school you might have been in trouble,” he teases. “Thanks for indulging me anyway.”

Claude's old hobby of mixing poisons has mainly fallen to the wayside, and he wouldn't use it on Dimitri in any case. Really, he probably wouldn't have back then, either, but it seems a far better response to that admission than unwanted pity or shock. This is just another part of Dimitri, another unfair burden pressed upon him, and Claude has never been inclined to pity.

He'd share just about anything with Dimitri. And he likes that flush on his cheeks, the look in his eyes. Claude hasn't said _it_ again, not since that first time - not since it was so clearly too much, too soon. But not saying it doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, and the tug at his heart when he looks at Dimitri is growing all too familiar.

“Of course.” Dimitri seems all too happy to kiss Claude instead of eating, and he keeps it slow and languid before they part. Claude thinks he might be pleased at Claude’s easy reaction, because of course Dimitri wouldn't take kindly to being pitied - and now it's behind them, another part of Dimitri that Claude is newly familiar with. He wonders for a moment if there's anything more intimate than slowly growing more and more familiar with someone as you spend more time together. 

“I would have been in trouble if you took any interest in me at all in school.” Dimitri admits it with a humored huff of air through his nose, reaching past Claude onto the tray to take another bit of fruit for himself. 

That draws an honest laugh from Claude. He pushes the small table, and the food on it, closer to Dimitri so he can help himself as he pleases, and then Claude reaches out to run a lazy hand through Dimitri's hair.

“You really think I wasn't interested in you?”

It's true that Claude attended the academy for his own reasons, his own ambitions. It's true that he had a long list of things he was interested in and Dimitri wasn't at the top of it - enough so that Claude did not try to ferret out his secrets. Even he only has so much time in the day, and with the church's secrets so infuriatingly ever-present, figuring Dimitri out had not been something Claude could focus on.

But that doesn't mean he wasn't interested. It only means that he couldn't indulge that interest. He focused on the church, on politics, on his own house, knowing he would one day need their loyalty. He can't regret that now. He would have gotten nowhere without what he did learn. But he wishes he'd had more time. If he had been able to figure Dimitri out... goddess, if he'd been able to figure _Edelgard_ out, who knows what he could have done?

He'd been seventeen years old, alone in a land that didn't trust him, no one to watch his back or help him uncover those secrets. He had no way of learning it all.

Claude tries not to regret that.

But this, at least, he can say with a smile: “You did know about half the students had crushes on you, right? I wasn't immune.”

He didn't - couldn't - spend his time focused on Dimitri. But that doesn't mean he didn't notice him. A future king, young and strong, handsome, with secrets and tragedy in his past? If Claude hadn't had more pressing issues weighing on him back then, Dimitri would have been like catnip. As it was, all he could really do was appreciate the eye candy. And of course he did that.

Dimitri clearly doesn't know what to say to that. “You've mentioned,” is what he settles on finally. He sighs and reaches for the food to eat more, contemplative while he chews. “You could have said something to me. Back then.”

Claude could have. But he knows Dimitri would not have taken it seriously, and so Claude would probably have made sure not to mean it seriously. That and - well, it seems like there are a hundred reasons.

Claude considers, and then he says at least a few of them aloud. “I was pretty sure you liked women.”

He doesn't say _Edelgard_. He doesn't want Dimitri to think of her, not now, not when they're both relaxed and quiet and he doesn't think Dimitri's got her on his mind for once. Even though that would be the truth - Claude picked up enough back then to notice Dimitri's extra attention to Edelgard, even if he didn't know why.

He trails his fingers through Dimitri's hair again, untangling it with his fingers.

“And even if that turned out to be wrong, I was pretty sure you wouldn't... what? Go to tea with me? Go on a date?” Claude grins, a little rueful. A little sad, even, maybe. For all that his time at school was fun, neither of them really got to be children. Neither of them really got to be the kind of stupid teenager who chases romance. Claude was friendly back then, outgoing, even a little flirtatious if he thought it was necessary, but he didn't actually date. He never really has. “Ah, my young heart was far too delicate to allow itself to be broken by the prince of the Blue Lions.”

His voice is teasing, light, making it into a joke. But of course it's not only that. Claude had to protect himself, he always has. Back then it was even more important, when he was so alone. Maybe he could have dared to have a romantic entanglement with someone else, someone in his house or a commoner, where politics wouldn't come into play nearly as much, but Dimitri?

He really would have been setting himself up to get his heart broken if he'd done anything but admire him.

Dimitri hums softly at that, mulling it over in his mind. 

“I don't think I liked anyone,” he says. It's quiet, a little regretful. Claude wonders for a moment what Dimitri’s life might have been like if the Tragedy had never happened. Maybe it could have been nice. Maybe he could have pursued someone he'd been interested in - maybe he would have noticed Claude's eyes on him and sought him out.

Instead, he'd been ruined, irreparably damaged by something that happened to him when he was fourteen and couldn't begin to understand something like love.

Claude doesn’t know what might be running through Dimitri’s mind. He can’t know. But whatever it is, it causes Dimitri to sit up abruptly, pulling away from Claude and taking a deep breath. Centering himself.

He exhales. “...I'm sorry. For how I was.”

Claude knows this isn't a path he wants to go much further down. Dimitri's ghosts are too strong, Claude can't chase them away or defeat them, all he can do is distract Dimitri for awhile. And that seems to be going poorly.

“You had a lot going on. We all did.” Claude shrugs it off as if it doesn't matter. And it doesn't, does it? That was a long time ago. Claude was too wary for romance, Dimitri too focused. And it wasn't as if Claude was in love with him back then - he was just a lonely boy, too observant for his own good, who had an interest that he knew couldn't be returned. Maybe if things had been different, if they'd both lived different lives, they could have tried. Maybe Dimitri would have been interested, too, in that world.

Even now, Claude still can't be sure that Dimitri really is interested, or if Claude is just the first person who's ever reached out to him, offered physical affection and emotional support that he sorely needs. He doubts that, if Dimitri had a choice, he would have chosen _Claude_ of all people.

But right now he is here with Claude, and if someday Claude gets his heart broken - well, he's an adult now. He knows what he's getting himself into. He's made his choice, or his heart made it for him, and maybe it will all turn out horribly, but at least he'll have the memory of Dimitri's lips on his skin, his quiet words of loyalty, so unlike anything Claude has ever heard before.

“It's not like you did anything to me. I just thought you were cute.” He grins, winking in a deliberately ridiculous manner. Dimitri needs a distraction, and Claude is nothing if not good at that. “I think you're cuter now, though. And you let me kiss you, so, improvements all around.”

It's enough to make Dimitri crack a sad little smile, turning back and leaning in for one of the aforementioned kisses, easing himself back against Claude. He doesn't quite fit back in the way that he was laying before, but he tries, pressing his cheek against Claude's shoulder.

“I'm a little concerned by your taste in men,” he finally responds, a few beats too late and sounding more weary than playful, but engaging with Claude again, catching back onto the thread of this conversation where Claude had offered him a hook to take. “And your lack of self preservation instincts.”

That one Claude can't argue, given that Dimitri had been willing to kill him at Gronder, almost did kill him in his cell, and Claude had... what, given him his freedom? Given him weapons? Taken him into battle? Fallen in love with him? Absolutely ridiculous, anyone would think so, likely even Dimitri himself, who has benefited the most from Claude's temporary bout of insanity and his apparent death wish.

Claude is known for carefully laid plans that seem like complete longshot gambles but somehow pay off - so this definitely isn't the first time he's heard that sort of thing. Well, the second part, anyway. No one's ever had reason to comment on his taste in men before, except Hilda, and Claude deliberately decides not to notice that Hilda and Dimitri seem to have similar opinions in that regard.

“Hey, I've managed to survive this long. I must be doing something right.”

He reaches out, catching hold of Dimitri's hand and pulling it to him so that Dimitri's arm is around him. Claude wants to banish all his own wistful thoughts, any might-have-beens that want to slip into his mind. This is what he has, right here, and it could all go wrong, but it hasn't yet. Even if Dimitri is confused about what he wants, even if he's only next to Claude because he wants what he can provide and not _him_, Claude is the one who's willing to provide it. He's making that choice with full knowledge of what he's doing.

And this - what they have, even if Dimitri's feelings are not the same as Claude's - is so much more than Claude has ever had before.

“And my taste is fantastic - you're just trying to trick me into showering you with compliments. How many times can I tell you you're handsome before you get sick of it?”

He's teasing now, of course, keeping the mood sweet and light. This isn't the time for Claude to look for validation. Maybe someday, if this lasts, he'll try to figure out what (or who?) Dimitri really wants. But for now, when they're so close to victory, so close to the end of everything, what they both need is a distraction. Not just Dimitri. Claude has so much that he just wants to forget, just for another hour or so, before it all falls on his shoulders again.

He just wants to be here, warm and content, with Dimitri's attention on him and nothing else. A selfish impulse, in some ways, but Claude doesn't really care.

“No, that's not what I-” Dimitri is already flushing again, a kneejerk reaction to Claude teasing him, and Claude sees no point in stopping now.

“You are, you know. Handsome - and the scars are sexy. You're an incredible warrior. And tall. Hey - maybe I just like tall guys. Is Sylvain single?”

Dimitri’s brows draw down and he growls in frustration, tightening his arm to pull Claude closer to him and pressing his face into Claude’s hair, hiding his expression and his blush and the possessive anger that flickers into his eye.

“Don't.” He's holding too tightly now, effectively distracted from whatever else he was thinking. “Only me.”

Dimitri's reaction is - oddly reassuring, though not surprising. Claude likes it, that prick of possessiveness in his voice, his arm around Claude. It's validating in a way that he should probably be ashamed of, but he can't quite make himself be. Whatever else might be between them, Dimitri doesn't want him with anyone else.

Which is just fine, of course, because Claude doesn't want to be with anyone else.

Despite his light-hearted exterior and flippant nature, Claude isn't really that much of a flirt, and romantic entanglements have always been rare for him. While he's never been in an actual relationship (and is this one?), he doesn't think he'd be interested in one that wasn't devoted, one where he'd be constantly second-guessing and watching his back. That sort of thing is fine if the feelings involved aren't serious, but Claude's feelings about this, whatever this is, have been serious since the beginning.

“You've got nothing to worry about.” He relents on his teasing almost immediately. He does take note of Dimitri's reaction, though, and his own response to it. He doesn't want to upset Dimitri, but - well, having the ability to get him a little riled up could be useful. In a lot of ways.

After all, it's pretty effectively distracted him.

Claude presses closer to Dimitri, though he's close already, and kisses his jawline.

“For me, there's only you.”

There's no one else he'd rather have next to him and yeah, maybe that is stupid - maybe he is making bad choices. Maybe Dimitri doesn't love him, or can't. Maybe Claude is just a warm body and a friendly ear. Maybe Dimitri is going to implode after he completes his revenge, or maybe he'll no longer need Claude. Maybe it'll all crumble and he'll be left with nothing but memories and heartbreak.

Or maybe it won't. Claude has made his choice, for better or for worse, and he's not interested in changing it.

Dimitri lets out a low, rumbling noise of satisfaction at the reassurance and the kisses, tipping his head down to capture Claude's lips in a searing kiss of his own, passionate and intent on making sure that Claude means that. 

“Good,” Dimitri breathes out, kissing him again. He closes his eye and leans into Claude, his mood changed from the lighthearted affection from before, but also from the sad guilt that threatened to envelop him. 

“I want to kill everyone who looks at you, sometimes. You're too good for them. You're too good for _me_,” he says with a low growl, “but I want you anyway. You can't -”

He looks down, pressing their foreheads together, his face inches from Claude's but not meeting his eyes.

“- you can't want anyone else. Not while you're here, with me.”

Realistically maybe Claude should be horrified by that, the quiet violence of Dimitri's devotion, especially knowing that Dimitri does have the capacity to commit any murder he wishes. But what Claude hears, more than the violence, is the devotion. Dimitri probably wouldn't actually kill anyone because of it, but the fact that he says it - that to some extent, he feels it - speaks more of what Dimitri feels for him than anything.

Because if that's true, he has to feel _something._

“I don't.” He lifts his hands to cup Dimitri's face, to hold him there so that Claude can kiss him, long and slow. What he'd like to do is argue that he isn't too good for anyone, and certainly not Dimitri, but he doesn't think that would get them anywhere. He doesn't think Dimitri understands how much the things he says mean to Claude, how many years he spent knowing that no one would ever feel that kind of loyalty, that kind of devotion, for him.

He was all right with that, or he'd made himself become all right with it. But now, with Dimitri offering it freely, it strikes to the core of Claude in a way that he thought he'd given up caring about a long time ago.

“Even when you're not by my side, you're the only one I want like this.” He kisses Dimitri again, hungrier this time. “And when we're together - all of me is yours, Dimitri.”

It's true that nothing seems to drive the thoughts completely from his head like Dimitri's presence this close to him. When he says things like that, when he makes it so crystal clear that he wants Claude, it's impossible to even consider wanting anything, anyone else. Claude might tease, he might deliberately rile Dimitri up, but there's no room for anyone else in his affections.

Dimitri goes still, returning Claude's warm and insistent kiss. “So then…” He takes a deep breath, as if he’s working up the courage to continue, as if he’s embarrassed to say it. “- we're lovers.”

Claude has been willing to leave their relationship unlabeled, wanting to avoid making Dimitri uncomfortable with words that he might not be ready for. But truthfully, Claude - both more casual about these things and already certain of his own feelings - has considered Dimitri in that light since their first night together. He's not interested in having any other lover, after all.

But if Dimitri is all right with it, Claude sees no reason to be coy.

“We are,” he says, and it seems he doesn't need to say any more than that. It... gives Claude more joy than he'd like to admit, being able to simply acknowledge it. Knowing that Dimitri has acknowledged it, wants to define what's between them like that. Claude would have been pretty content without it, so he didn't expect that it would mean this much to him. But it does.

He pulls Dimitri in for another kiss, and this time he doesn't stop his hands from wandering, trailing down Dimitri's chest. He's not going to insist on anything, but - embarrassingly, everything Dimitri has said has gotten him a little hard, and he can't resist the urge to touch him, press against him, kiss him.

Well, if he's Dimitri's lover, doesn't he have that right?

“You have no idea how much I want you. Pretty much all the time, but - now, especially.” His voice is wry, more amused at himself than anything, amused that he wants Dimitri again, that he can't seem to control it. But not ashamed, not that at all.

“I think I have some clue,” Dimitri says, and smiles a little at the feeling of Claude running his fingers down his chest, kissing him, telling him that he's wanted. He wraps his arm tighter around Claude, shifting so that the other man can continue touching him, but doesn't quite move to reciprocate yet.

“I don't know how often I'll get to be with you from now on,” he admits softly, sliding his leg up to press against Claude's own, thigh against thigh, and moves to touch his jaw, tugging Claude into another warm kiss before continuing. “Or how often we can steal time like this.”

Claude leans into the kiss, as much as he can in the position he's in, enjoying it. He knows Dimitri is right. There will be a battle soon, and after that - after that, they'll have to retake Fhirdiad, and take care of any straggling forces loyal to Edelgard. And then they'll need to rebuild.

All of that will keep Claude by Dimitri's side, to some extent or another. Likely they'll have to be separated at times, but with Claude as the leader of the victorious Alliance armies and Dimitri as the king, they'll both sit on whatever council is formed, and they'll have some chance to be together.

But Claude has to leave. It won't be immediate, it won't necessarily even be that soon, though that depends on how the rebuilding goes. But it still has to happen. There is no way Claude can stay by Dimitri's side once that comes to pass. He has - thoughts, but nothing concrete yet.

“I'll find ways to steal us some time.” Claude is resourceful. Claude is clever. Claude is also motivated, and he will make opportunities if there aren't any, at least for as long as he can.

He doesn't want to lose this. “But we should make the most of the time we have anyway.”

He kisses Dimitri again, indulging himself, letting his lips move to Dimitri's jaw and then to his neck. This time he does stop there, and very carefully and precisely sucks a love bite onto the pale skin of Dimitri's neck. Claude wants the mark he leaves to go deeper, to be part of Dimitri's heart, his soul, but he'll make do with his skin. That much, at least, he can be sure of.

Dimitri tips his head to let Claude move at his throat and exhales at the slight pain of his teeth and the dampness of his tongue. With a soft sigh, he shuffles to sit up a little more, shifting their positions slightly so that he can get his arm around Claude's waist instead and lifting and pushing him around until Claude can move over and get situated in his lap, facing him.

“How do you intend on making the most of it?” he asks, raising his fingers to trace along the line of bruises on Claude's throat and shoulder. “We don’t have long before it’ll be time to start marching again.”

“I know,” Claude says.

Unfortunately. As much as Claude would like to spend the whole day adoring Dimitri, they have a long day of marching before them - and not long after that, the battle. The morning is already slipping away.

“We should get ready soon. But first -” He's more than happy to settle against Dimitri, make himself comfortable on his lap, pressed close together. Skin against skin, and Claude could get used to this so easily - just having Dimitri near him, within arms' reach, close enough to touch and kiss. He knows it can only be like this during these stolen moments, where no one can see, but that only makes him value it more. “Let me touch you, at least.”

He likes how relaxed Dimitri seems in this moment, how it's almost as if Claude is the only thing in his world. He wonders if he can calm Dimitri before this march begins again, if they can wear each other out enough that neither will be plagued by dark thoughts or the burdens they carry. Maybe.

Better to be sure, really.

Claude's hand slides downward, to touch Dimitri, just as he asked for a moment ago.

“Oh -” For all that he knows that Claude is bold, it seems Dimitri was not quite expecting a hand on him so soon. Dimitri is... interested again, if not fully hard, but at the first touch of Claude's fingers, the interest intensifies and he sits up a little straighter, kissing at the bottom of the other man's jaw. “Are you…”

Dimitri glances downward toward them both to answer the question he was too embarrassed to ask, biting his lip as he sees that Claude is hard too - he's been so for awhile, given how they'd been kissing. Dimitri reaches down with his own hand to touch him in turn - the positioning is a little awkward, but he makes it work. 

Claude laughs, quiet and so full of affection he can barely stand himself. “I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you how much I want you before you believe it.”

But there's some, well, very clear physical proof. Claude's not embarrassed. He knows Dimitri doesn't understand his own appeal, but Claude wishes it were possible to show him. It's not just physical - Dimitri has his issues, anyone can see that, but his fierce loyalty and strong heart are irresistible to someone like Claude, who has always felt like an outsider. Sometimes the things Dimitri says and does are almost too much, more than he feels like should be possible. Claude would admire that part of him even if it weren't directed at himself, but when it is -

It's no wonder Claude can't even consider anyone else.

“You do this to me.”

He wraps his fingers around Dimitri, stroking him, watching him. Claude does like to give pleasure, and he especially likes giving Dimitri pleasure. Dimitri has had far too little, Claude thinks, in these last few years - maybe before that, too, with so much weighing him down. He likes to see the expression on Dimitri's face, that loss of control, the pleasure he feels because of Claude. He likes knowing that he can do that.

He was already hard, but with Dimitri's hand on him he doesn't see any reason to not be shameless, as well. He moves against Dimitri's touch, a shuddering movement of his hips, and his breath comes faster.

Dimitri moans softly at that, and he gets his free hand around Claude's shoulders, moving both of their hands between them so that he can move a little more freely, turning with Claude in his arm, gently lowering him to his back against the blankets and pillows and crawling over him.

Like this, they can press together easier, the movement is more instinctive, and Claude can just let himself enjoy it while Dimitri presses wet, messy kisses along his throat and collarbones.

“I want you,” he growls, fitting the two of their cocks together in his hand, lightly curling his fingers around the both of them and pressing up slow, sliding against Claude with a fluid roll of his hips. “If I could, I'd have you over and over again, until neither of us could move.”

Now that - _that_ is a fantasy Claude can get behind. Someday, maybe, they can steal an entire night and the following day to themselves, where they can kiss and cuddle and fuck their way through the hours until they fall asleep together with nothing that they need to wake up for. Today is not that day - that day won't come for awhile yet, but still, Claude thinks about the possibility of it, how much he wants it, someday, just once.

He could lose himself in that, in the dream of spending hours with Dimitri, no demands on their time, nothing but the two of them. Talking softly and kissing and finding out how many times he can make Dimitri come before he's too boneless and content to do anything but sleep. Touching and exploring and just being, just the two of them, no world outside to worry about.

Maybe that will be possible someday. It isn't today, but he has this, he has Dimitri above him and his hands, his touch, the movement of his body. It's enough. It's more than enough.

“_Goddess_ -” He can't seem to find words, a rare thing, but Dimitri has filled his head with nothing but need and desire. He has a way of doing that, a way that no one else ever has, and sometimes all Claude wants to do is lose himself in it. Lose himself in Dimitri. Forget about everything else.__

_ _He arches, moving his hips, feeling the slide of his cock against Dimitri's. Sharp waves of pleasure rock through him, intense and perfect, and he lets out a shuddering sigh._ _

_ _“You're amazing.”_ _

_ _It's inadequate, words like that, but Claude's not sure that he has words to properly express what effect Dimitri has on him when he's like this. All he can do is curl fingers into Dimitri's hair, drag him into a deep, filthy kiss, and move his hips, urging him on, wanting more._ _

_ _Dimitri smiles, presses them together again, kissing Claude when he's kissed, tonguing at his mouth and giving Claude everything he could possibly want, even the things that he doesn't know to ask for._ _

_ _With apparent regret, Dimitri breaks his kiss, and with even greater regret he pulls his hips away from Claude's to slink down his body._ _

_ _“Tell me if I - if I'm doing this wrong,” Dimitri asks, and he presses his mouth against the hollow of Claude's hip, finding new and unmarked skin there that he can get his teeth into while his hand moves up toward Claude's cock again, stroking at him as he sucks yet another dark bruise into his skin._ _

_ _Claude wasn't going to push for this, he didn't know if Dimitri needed more time to think about it - to get used to the idea. He's happy just touching each other, just feeling Dimitri's hand on him. But this - as Dimitri moves down his body Claude feels desire tighten in his stomach. He wants this, he wants this badly, and to see Dimitri doing it -_ _

_ _He feels incredibly lucky, and a tiny bit spoiled._ _

_ _“Yeah - ah -” Claude's breath catches at the bite of Dimitri's teeth into his skin, and he knows he probably shouldn't like that as much as he does, but he can't help himself. He grips the soft rug beneath him, already trying to reclaim some kind of control over his body. This is the first time Dimitri's done this, he knows, and he doesn't want to move too fast or go too far too soon. He has to try to keep a bit of control over himself._ _

_ _It's not easy, though, not with the sight of Dimitri down there, so close to Claude's hard length._ _

_ _“You - you sure?”_ _

_ _He wants this, and he wants it badly, but Claude doesn't want Dimitri to feel like he has to. He doesn't want anything between them to feel wrong, or bad, or like Dimitri can't say no if he needs to. Claude likes doing it - he really does - but he knows not everyone does._ _

_ _Dimitri licks over the bruise he's left in some sort of apology for hurting him like this, but he looks a bit proud at the new and colorful marks on Claude's skin._ _

_ _“I am,” he says, and it sounds confident, though Claude knows he hasn’t done this before. He takes a deep breath and soldiers on, looking toward Claude's cock just a few inches away from his face. It's something that he knows intimately now, from all the times he's had his hands on him, or when they've pressed together and rocked until completion. He leans in and licks tentatively down the shaft of it._ _

_ _That initial careful exploration seems to reassure him that it’s like any other skin he's licked, like the skin on Claude's hip that his mouth was just on, and perhaps the knowledge that it isn't really so different is what spurs him forward into wrapping his lips around the tip of it and bobbing his head down for the first time, his brows furrowed in concentration._ _

_ _Dimitri quickly finds that he should be using his hands too, and so he wraps his fingers around the base of Claude's cock and strokes him slowly, taking care to breathe through his nose and to keep going slowly, carefully. _ _

_ _Just the sight of Dimitri, his mouth on Claude, is a little overwhelming. Claude has thought about it, of course - he's imagined it, alone at night, his hand on himself. The reality is so much _more_, though, and Claude bites his lip to keep from moaning too loudly._ _

_ _It's morning, everyone is waking up and preparing to move on. Anyone could be outside. Part of Claude hates that they need to be careful, that they need to sneak around, that he has to be quiet when all he wants to do is cry out Dimitri's name. He wishes he could kiss Dimitri in public, stand by his side, tell the world that they belong to each other. But that's not possible right now, and so he tries to be quiet, he tries not to attract the attention of the entire camp with his sounds of pleasure._ _

_ _“Dimitri -” It slips out anyway, but quieter, Claude has only so much self control and he's using most of it to keep from moving his hips, thrusting into Dimitri's mouth. “I could watch you like that for hours.”_ _

_ _Claude, this time, does not have his mouth full, and if he can't make the sounds he'd like, at least he can tell Dimitri how incredible he looks with Claude's cock in his mouth. Claude's voice is breathless, strained, his desire and need clear._ _

_ _“I - ah - I imagined this. I thought about what it might be like. You feel so good.”_ _

_ _The praise makes Dimitri flush high in his cheeks as he bobs down to try and take more of him, his mouth stretched wide as he swallows the thick length of him as much as he can._ _

_ _Dimitri has to pull back after a moment of that, breathless, his mouth reddened and slick with saliva, but he keeps his attention on Claude's cock while he catches his breath, tipping his head down to explore every inch of him with his tongue in tentative licks and kisses across Claude's most sensitive skin._ _

_ _“I've thought about doing this to you,” he confesses in turn, lifting his eye to meet Claude's own while he mouths at the base of his cock. “I want to make you mindless with pleasure every day. You look so beautiful when you're losing control.”_ _

_ _Claude's always been more the sort to say things like that than to be swayed by them, but when it's Dimitri saying it - goddess, he could lose himself in that. And like this, Dimitri looking at him like that, saying those things, Dimitri's mouth on him, Claude thinks he would happily topple kingdoms just for the chance to have this even once more._ _

_ _Dimitri puts his mouth back on Claude, his breath fully caught, and lowers himself enough to take Claude in just that much deeper, feeling him at the back of his throat and holding there carefully before pulling back and letting his cheeks hollow as he increases the pressure. In his careful ministrations, he's forgotten about his hands but quickly starts to move them again, one working at Claude in tandem with his mouth while the other moves to Claude's inner thigh, his nails pressing into the sensitive skin there and dragging downward just to feel Claude shudder beneath him._ _

_ _Claude reaches down, tangling his fingers in Dimitri's hair, not trying to push him any further, just needing that point of contact._ _

_ _“I would have you every day if I could.” He's really breathless now, and getting to the point where talking is going to be more of an effort than it's worth. But he says it because it's true, and because he wants Dimitri to hear it. It's a fantasy, having Dimitri in his bed every night, waking next to him every morning. Dimitri's mouth on him, or Dimitri between his legs, or just touching each other, just moving together. They've stolen what moments they can, and Claude has tried to remember every bit of them._ _

_ _When Dimitri takes him deeper he knows he won't be able to last much longer. The most he can do is tug at Dimitri's hair, give him some kind of warning._ _

_ _“Dimitri - I'm close -”_ _

_ _There's no way he could have lasted long, not with Dimitri looking like that, saying those things. Claude's control is shredded, and it's all he can do to keep from thrusting into Dimitri's mouth. He's not going to be able to hold on for long._ _

_ _Dimitri startles at the little tug of warning, lifting up off of him, barely nodding at Claude's words - but he doesn't go back to him, not quite yet. Instead, he's working up the courage to say something, awkward and shifting a hand down to palm against himself, trying to take the edge off before he just spits it out._ _

_ _“You can... pull my hair. When you're -” He shakes his head, too embarrassed to say much further but that's alright, he has better things to do - like duck his head down lower and take Claude back into his mouth, centering his focus back on pleasuring him. He moves back to take him as deeply as he can, closing his eye with a pleased hum as he devotes himself to this task._ _

_ _Claude can't really run with that hesitant permission - request? - right now, when he's so close, but he can file it away for later. He wants to know what Dimitri likes, he wants every little piece of that, and if he can fulfill those desires he's more than happy to. But in this moment he's right on the edge, overwhelmed by Dimitri's attention and the warm wetness of his mouth._ _

_ _He does tug at Dimitri's hair again, but it's more of an unconscious action than anything, because his whole body tenses, he arches, and then he's coming. Claude barely manages to fling his free hand over his mouth, muffling his cries before they can carry outside the thin canvas walls of the tent. With the warning, Dimitri is able to swallow it down._ _

_ _It's sudden and intense and perfect, and Claude can't spare a moment's thought to anything except this. He relaxes back against the pillows, breathing hard, face flushed, and only then is he able to focus a little, to make sure Dimitri is all right - he knows that it can be kind of, well, surprising the first time._ _

_ _“That was... ah, you're amazing.”_ _

_ _He was too lost in his own pleasure to notice before, but he can see now that Dimitri is hard, that he at least enjoyed it _that_ much, and he likes that._ _

_ _“Are you close?” Claude's voice is a little rough, from his barely-muffled cries. “I want you to come for me.”_ _

_ _Dimitri nods, crawling back up Claude's body. He curls into Claude, mouthing at his shoulder and reaching up to wrap his fingers gently around Claude's wrist and guide his hand downward to help him._ _

_ _“Close,” he confirms breathlessly, pressing his hips into Claude's fingers. _ _

_ _Claude is tired, and limp with contentment, but he's more than happy to help nevertheless. He enjoys this so much, giving Dimitri this kind of pleasure, knowing that it's because of him. He wraps his fingers around Dimitri's cock and begins to stroke him, moving enough so that he can kiss Dimitri._ _

_ _“Let go. I've got you.”_ _

_ _His kisses are not quite as hungry as they have been, but they're still full of affection, and Claude's voice brims with admiration. Appreciation, maybe. He's still amazed that he gets to have this, that he gets to touch Dimitri, that he gets to see him like this. That no one else does - and Claude has never considered himself the possessive sort, but the idea of anyone else seeing Dimitri like this doesn't sit well with him._ _

_ _“Goddess, I love looking at you when you're like this. You should see yourself - you look absolutely debauched. Gorgeous.” Claude's voice is soft now, intimate, and he is watching Dimitri, the way his hair is tangled from Claude's hand in it, his red lips, his need. Dimitri is always handsome, but in moments like these, he's far more than that, and Claude can't look away._ _

_ _Dimitri presses his lips together when Claude praises him, going flushed with the knowledge that Claude is just as eager for this as he is. With the Claude's fingers sliding over his cock, he closes his eye and shifts his hips into the touch, whimpering helplessly, hiding his face in Claude's throat as he finds his own completion. Dimitri gasps into his skin, rocking forward as he comes and spends himself in Claude's fingers._ _

_ _Dimitri takes a few moments to fully recover from that, exhaling heavily into Claude's shoulder for a moment before slowly lifting his head with a sated little smile and leaning in to kiss him. It's similar to Claude's earlier kiss, affectionate and gentle, even if it's not quite as passionate as it might have been a few moments before. When he moves backward and breaks the kiss, it's to reach a hand up to press against Claude's jaw, stroking his thumb gently over his cheek._ _

_ _“I liked that,” he says simply - and of course, it's obvious that he did, but Claude likes that he feels the need to say it anyway, even as he curls closer into Claude's side._ _

_ _Claude moves only enough to fetch something to clean them with, doing so with relaxed movements. Then he settles back against Dimitri, so they're pressed together, so he can feel Dimitri's warmth and lean in to kiss him. He can still taste himself on Dimitri's lips, and he doesn't mind that at all._ _

_ _“I did too,” he says._ _

_ _Not that there was even the slightest bit of doubt about that. Claude feels content, sated. They have a little time before they have to leave the tent, before they have to pretend that Dimitri merely came by for an early breakfast and a discussion of tactics. That he didn’t spend the night in Claude’s tent, curled around him._ _

_ _For now, he pulls the blanket over them and takes hold of Dimitri's arm, pulling it around him in a rather proprietary way. The simple pleasure of having Dimitri nearby is something Claude can't quite put into words. Maybe it's easy for other people, but though Claude certainly has friends and people that he cares for, he's never had someone he felt this way towards. He wants Dimitri to be next to him, and he wants Dimitri to be happy, and he wants Dimitri to only look at him. It feels so simple, even petty, compared to everything else Claude has been working so hard for, but isn't he allowed to have a few simple desires?_ _

_ _And just for now, isn't he allowed to pretend that there's nothing else weighing them down?_ _

_ _“Stay with me for now. We have a little time.”_ _

_ _Dimitri seems more than happy to keep his arm around him, to press in close to him and rest his nose in Claude's hair, inhaling his scent and letting Claude tuck his chin into his chest, settling back in to the blankets that Claude has brought back around them both. Claude feels... warm and content with where they are, with Dimitri pressed against him in this tent, a room that seems to exist separately from the outside world. If only they could stay in here forever... but it's too much to ask, and Claude knows that once he's rested up a little, nothing could keep Dimitri from leaving it to continue their march._ _

_ _Dimitri lets out a long sigh then, relaxing further and bringing his hand up to stroke idly at Claude's hair, possessive and affectionate all at once. _ _

_ _Claude holds onto the peace of this moment for as long as he can. By the time the camp outside is truly beginning to wake up, he feels as if he - as if both of them - can face this. That whatever this march might hold for them, whatever lies in wait in Enbarr, they will have these moments to remember._ _

_ _It has to be enough._ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri finally faces off against Edelgard in Enbarr. Claude can only hope he survives the encounter.

Dimitri has lost count of the number of times that Claude has promised to get him this far. He can almost hear it now, Claude whispering _patience_ to him in the war council, in the Cathedral, in his bed. It has been something of a mantra between them, Claude begging his patience and Dimitri growling in complaint but relenting anyway.

And now he's here.

Enbarr had fallen easily, crushed under the weight of Dimitri and Claude’s forces together, the Kingdom, Alliance, and Almyran forces outnumbering their foes three to one. There had been a vicious attempt to hold, blood in the streets, more warriors they knew from childhood struck down, but the end was predictable.

Which leaves the castle itself. Which leaves the remainder of the Imperial army, the ones who care nothing for victory and will fight until their final breath, regardless of the odds, to protect their Emperor.

Claude is strategic, because he always is. The Almyrans on their wyverns remain outside the palace, guarding from any stragglers who might seek to pincer them. Most of the Alliance forces tear through the palace, fighting those they find there, trying to stamp out the remnants who oppose them. It's a fierce battle, and it could go against them - but the odds of that are small. There are simply no reinforcements left to shore up what remains, and they are like wounded animals, fighting only to bring as many down with them as they can.

There will be no surrender. Claude and Dimitri both know that. They knew it from the beginning.

Dimitri cannot - will not - fall back and he refuses to stay and fight the rabble with the others. He can feel Edelgard in her throne room like a noose around his throat, pulling him toward her, the tie that binds them together entrancing, consuming, leaving room for nothing else in his mind but the screams of all those she has killed, the deaths that she is responsible for.

Back in Gronder, she looked at him as if he was nothing. Inconsequential. A beast in her path. Now, he will make her see him, now he will make her pay.

“Your highness - “ Dedue calls out, but Dimitri barely hears him, carves a path inward, slams himself against the heavy gate. He’s joined quickly by his vassal, who puts his shoulder to the door and helps him _push_, while Felix darts in afterward, keeping the soldiers off of the two of them while the wood splinters and crumbles beneath their joint efforts, allowing them entrance to the front of the palace.

“I - I’ll get Claude!” Annette’s voice rings out, but now that the gate is open, nothing could hold Dimitri back and he walks toward the center of the castle like a dead man, barely noticing the men and women who stand to fight them along the way. Between Dedue and Felix and himself, they make short work of the remaining soldiers in the hallway, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake as they move.

Both of his allies know better than to say anything now, as Dimitri lets his lance drag on the floor behind him, stalking closer, unable to be stopped.

_Can you feel me, Edelgard?_ he thinks, hysterically. Another trio of soldiers pour into the hall, hold their arms up to stop him. Dimitri’s footsteps sounds louder than anything else in the hallway and the swords betray the soldier’s sudden trembling as he draws nearer. One takes a step back, breaking formation. _I’m coming._

He slashes forward, brute strength overshadowing any form of technique, the superior range of his lance allowing him to spear through the throat of the center soldier without a second thought. The lance swings, the remaining soldiers scream in terror and their cries are extinguished.

_I’m getting closer to you._

Another door, this one sturdier. Dedue moves forward this time, hands tightening on his axe as he roars, bringing it down on the steel of the hinges, the bladed impact twisting them beyond recognition and allowing the great door to swing open, revealing the hall, with her - her - _her_.

She sits in her throne above it all, surrounded by those of her hand-picked Imperial Guard. These are the strongest fighters in the Empire, her men and women who are a cut above the rest, who will fight and die a losing war simply to keep her alive.

Dimitri doesn’t care. He’ll cut through all of them if he must.

There’s a smattering of footsteps behind him and for a moment, Dimitri thinks that there are somehow more reinforcements but there aren’t - Claude himself bursts into the room behind him, breathing hard and glancing through the room, cataloguing all the exits, the entrances, how many guards there are, what must be done. 

Claude moves without being told, without trying to confer a plan, landing an arrow in the throat of one. Dedue takes another, and Claude nocks another arrow. They'll keep them off Dimitri, clear a path for him to approach.

The throne room is massive and the clash of steel echoes all around him, but for this moment, when he meets Edelgard's narrowed eyes for the first time since the battle of Gronder, it feels as silent as the grave. He feels his heart beat, his pulse bolting through him, just loud enough to drown out the screams of all those who have died at her hands. He can feel them in the air between them both, weighing him down until he can barely breathe. He thinks, for a half-crazed moment, that she can feel them too. That maybe she's the only other one who can.

Edelgard, who stands slowly to face him, the Aymr clutched in one of her hands. Edelgard, who ravaged his Kingdom and murdered half the countryside for her convictions. Edelgard, who launched the attack which crushed the Academy and the only time he'd ever felt at peace since he was a child. Edelgard, who sided with those who had destroyed everything he'd ever loved and left him like _this._

Edelgard, who had taught him how to dance and whose departure from his life was so sudden and so sad for a young boy on the cusp of his first crush, that he'd been inconsolable in his room for weeks afterward.

“...you took everything from me.”

He says it quietly, gritted through his teeth, but she hears him - he knows she does by the way her eyes flicker downward with what he thinks could be a moment of regret... but they're far past regret now.

“Sacrifices were necessary,” she explains, but she seems to steel herself shortly after because her gaze darkens, fingers tightening on her weapon as she slowly descends from the staircase on the throne, oblivious to the bloodshed around her just as Dimitri is. “They still are.”

It's enough to spur him into action and Dimitri moves for her, closing the distance quickly and with each pounding step of his feet against the stone, he thinks about her _sacrifices_. He thinks about Duscur and he thinks about his father, about the students they'd turned into beasts, about Rhea, about Caspar, about Bernadetta, about the thousands of men and women who had died in Edelgard's flames, and they _scream_ and it sounds just like the clashing of steel.

The relics crash against one another in a burst of light, Dimitri lunging and Edelgard blocking, and he pulls back and moves again - this time, she deflects with the handle of her axe, sliding forward to send it cleaving toward him. Dimitri spins out of the way and the crest stone in the Areadbhar shines as he brings it down, splintering the stone where Edelgard had stood a moment ago.

They clash like that, bone on bone, a flurry of movement through the center of the room. Edelgard strikes the first blood, the blade of her axe blocked by the shaft of Dimitri's spear and so she uses her grip on the hilt to smash it into his face, knocking him back and splitting open a deep gash at his temple. 

If anything, the blood spurs him on further and he surges back against her, yanking his weapon from where they were tangled together and scoring the blade down her arm, cleaving through armor and leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

She hooks the curve of her axe over the shaft of his weapon and tries to pull, but Dimitri is stronger with the Blaiddyd crest flaring in his veins and he yanks instead, _ripping_ the weapon from her hands and sending it flying, far past her ability to reach it.

Dimitri takes a step closer to her. Two. There's no fear in her eyes. He's always admired her for that.

Edelgard reaches for her belt, pulling out her dagger - a thin, flimsy thing, a weapon more suitable for a child than an Emperor - and holds it defensively in her uninjured arm, watching him as one might watch a beast circling around them.

But it's just that, the simple action of it, the sight of the weapon in her hands, that strikes Dimitri down to his core and loosens his grip on his weapon.

“You still... after all this time, you -?”

For all of his ferocity, Dimitri's voice is a soft and broken thing.

Edelgard, trained warrior that she is, sees his hesitation, his closeness, and _lunges_, forcing herself too close for Dimitri's spear to be of much use, and throws herself bodily at him, knocking him off balance and sending them both crashing to the floor. 

She uses both hands to drive it down toward his neck and Dimitri has to react faster than he can think or he dies - he lifts his right hand to stop it, to push back against the blade, and feels nothing as the dagger punctures through his gauntlet with the force of her attack, feels nothing as the steel of it sinks deep into his palm, pierces its way between the thin bones on the back of his hand and spears out the other side.

He pushes back with all the strength he can muster, and it’s barely enough to keep the tip of the blade from sinking into his neck too - as it is, it scores a thin line down his throat and he can feel blood well up from the scratch, slip down along his throat like warm rain.

With his other hand, Dimitri tries to grab at her wrist, preventing her from lowering the weapon for the killing blow with all of his fading strength. He tries to call upon his crest again, but it doesn't come - not through the sudden and searing pain that vibrates through his arm and _now_ he feels something, feels the white-hot burst of pain searing through his hand, so intense that he feels a sudden revulsion in his stomach, like he might be sick.

Blood from both of their injuries drips onto his chest. She's watching him but she doesn't really see him, as all of her focus is on trying to drive the knife further down to slice cleanly through his throat and Dimitri grits his teeth with the exertion of trying to keep her at bay and the sudden pain of all of his wounds that makes him feel as if the world was growing dim.

He barely hears Dedue yell - “_Dimitri!_” - but Edelgard's personal guard are a good deal more powerful than her foot soldiers and they're effectively keeping the rest of the forces back from the two of them, even if they can't assist her.

He hears his father. Glenn. Dimitri exhales and even hears her, the small girl with brown hair who had admonished him for stepping on her feet.

“...El,” he finally whispers, and she blinks in surprise. Dimitri hears her, louder and louder until it's all he can hear, and whatever happened to her, whatever broke her to make her this way, he thinks that in that moment he understands it more than anyone else ever could.

The crest sings in his blood and Dimitri finally _feels_ it and uses the momentum of it to overpower her, his non-injured hand grinding hard enough at the bones at her wrist that he can feel a _crack_ under his fingers and she is forced to let go. Dimitri doesn't think - he _can't_ think as she tries to reach for it again, but he's faster, closer, and uses his non-dominant hand to rip the blade of the dagger from between the bones of his hand and plunge it forward into the divot of her collarbone.

Edelgard's eyes go wide with shock as hot blood begins to pour from the wound. She looks at him and _sees_ him and tries to breathe, but she can't take in a breath through the steel piercing her. The weight of her body sags against him and Dimitri reaches up, catching her in his arms while the fur around his collar goes wet and sticky with blood.

She still doesn't look afraid. She was never afraid. She just looks... resigned.

He holds her until she's gone.

She’s heavy, heavier in death, and Dimitri keeps his arms around her shoulders for a moment more, and slowly moves to roll her gently off of him so that he can move to sit up, unaware of anything about the battle that currently rages around them. Dimitri breathes for the first time as a free man, but he doesn't know if he feels it. Instead, he feels... numb, and he looks back down toward her body, the blood pooling around them both and he doesn't know what to do.

He's done it. It's over. It's over, it's over, _it's over_, but the relief doesn't come. The weight doesn't lift from his shoulders, it just feels heavy, as heavy as she did.

-

Edelgard's soldiers still fight, but their emperor is gone, and with it their will. Some fall. A few look to lay down their arms. Most fight on, but their numbers are dwindling, and so Claude breaks through their line easily. He glances back long enough to see Dedue joined by Felix, sword stained with the blood of their foes, and Annette, her hands glowing with magic.

His eyes meet Dedue's only long enough to convey his purpose - _keep them away_. No doubt Dedue also wishes to go to his lord's side, but in this, Claude refuses to give way. The fighting may be weakening, but it isn't over, and there is no better guard to be chosen. Claude turns and makes his way to Dimitri, bow in his hand again, arrows close to his reach, just in case. But he isn't approached.

“Dimitri.”

It seems almost calm here, set apart from the chaos of battle in some way. Claude's eyes rest first on Edelgard, dead on the ground, and his heart hurts. It shouldn't have been like this. Claude doesn't even think her goals were wrong, only her methods, her methods that hurt so many. If only they had been able to talk - but he knows, in his heart of hearts, that she had chosen her path and would not have been swayed from it.

And so it came to this.

He looks then at Dimitri, and sinks to his knees next to him. He's kneeling in Edelgard's blood, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even seem to notice.

“It's over.”

Unwittingly, he echoes Dimitri's thoughts. But is it? For all of Claude's feelings for him, all his affection, all his trust and belief, Claude is well aware that Dimitri's psyche is fractured, fragile, prone to shattering. He was barely more than a beast when Claude captured him, and though he seemed to restore some kind of equilibrium, it was always a delicate thing.

Claude doesn't know what this will do to him.

_

Awareness comes to Dimitri in waves, ebbing and flowing from his consciousness. He feels the piercing pain in his hand, so severe that he thinks he might pass out, but then it drifts further away from him. He hears Claude's footsteps on the ground nearby, hears his voice, his knees crashing into the stone to kneel beside him, and then he hears nothing. He sees Edelgard laying next to him, her eyes open and unblinking toward the ceiling of her throne room, and then he stops processing anything his eye takes in.

In and out. Like breathing.

He doesn't know how long he sits there with Claude next to him, with fighting around him, with Edelgard's body growing colder beside him. Reality is a stone and it sinks deep into him, buried by the voices and by the listlessness and by the realization that he's done it. It's over.

He should be celebrating, maybe, but how can he? He feels more like taking her dagger and slitting his own throat - he'd bleed out then, right in front of Claude and it would be _truly_ over.

There's more to live for. Claude has made sure of that, Claude has spent the last few months carefully cultivating a world in which Dimitri feels obligated to survive in: a world in which he will rebuild Duscur, a world in which he will be king, a world in which he and Claude break down the barriers between their countries and begin to create the kind of place that Dimitri had dreamed about as a child.

Edelgard had dreamed of it too. He knows this now, it's what she started this war for, the belief that the only way forward was through unification. Claude thinks similarly - and how ironic, Dimitri thinks bitterly, that the three of them could have such similar ideals and yet be lead down such different paths. The last time they were all close like this, close enough to reach out and join hands had been... years ago. And now here they are: one dead, one a murderer, and one trying to desperately hold everything together.

_It's over_, Claude says, and Dimitri isn't sure if it is.

“I…”

It's soft, a whisper. He closes his eye, reaches up with his good hand to fist his fingers in his hair while his shoulders start to tremble. The smell of blood is overpowering, the pain is worse, and the knowledge of what he's done is the worst thing of all.

“I did this for you.” He's not talking to Claude. There are shadows in the room around them, separate from the soldiers, and they move closer to the three of them. He can’t see their faces, but he can name them by their heights, and they come closer, the twin burning coals of their eyes boring a hole into his chest. 

_It’s over_, he wants to tell them, but he doesn’t think they’d listen. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe the only way it can be over is for him to die as well. Close the cycle. End the lives of all the beasts that plague this land, not just the ones who lost the war.

He thinks, in a small and tiny voice, that he doesn’t want to die. Not with Claude sitting next to him, not with so many things he could still do. Dimitri doubts they’d understand, knows that they’d think him selfish, for ending one half of it and refusing to see to the rest, but...

“I did - _all_ of this... for you. Please…”

His body wracks itself into silent sobs as he begins to cry. He can’t say any more.

There's nothing for awhile, and then there's Claude. Dimitri feels a hand on his arm and it feels so solid, a physical force that permeates through the fog and touches him. With Claude's hand comes his forearm, his shoulders, his face, and if his touch is real (it feels real, he thinks) then his expression is as well, and he looks determined. It's rare to see that kind of expression on his face - so rare, when he usually wears a myriad of smiles, both genuine and not.

“Look at me.” A command, not a gentle request.

Claude's voice is low but strong, and it echoes in Dimitri’s mind. The shadows pay him no mind, they reach closer, covering Edelgard’s face with their hands, reaching for Dimitri, the ghost of fingers tickling along his throat. It feels lighter than Claude’s touch, but just as real.

“_End it,_” they whisper in singsong, reaching for him, fingers dancing further forward, touching his cheek now, clasping over his mouth. Can’t Claude see it? Why would Claude ignore this?

Claude pushes and pulls at Dimitri, gritting his teeth as he forcibly moves him so that Dimitri is facing him, Edelgard to his right side and out of his vision. Claude keeps his head from turning back to her corpse, the hands keep him from fighting back.

“Dimitri. _Look at me._”

“_Look at him._”

Claude doesn't wait for Dimitri to respond.

“It's done. You need to stay with me, now.”

“_Stay with him._”

“_End it._”

“_Stay with her._”

Claude’s jaw is tight, determination in his eyes, a brutal realism to his face, to his words, and he opens his mouth again and his voice sounds louder when he speaks.

“Please.”

Dimitri looks at Claude, as requested. His cheek shines with wetness but he's not crying anymore. It's easy to watch him, and with Edelgard on his blind side he can't even see her out of his periphery. In the moments prior, the world had been faded, sunken deep within him - but now there's Claude down here with him in the center of all things, down in the darkness, and when he begs Dimitri to stay, part of him longs to obey.

Dimitri's hand falls to his lap as he watches Claude, and he can hear the rest of the voices begging for his attention too but they seem further away than the man sitting in front of him. Claude is... startlingly present and Dimitri remembers the last time that Claude looked at him like this, before the battle when he'd touched his cheek and they'd exchanged soft words, both knowing that the hours ahead would change everything.

(He doesn't feel better, he thinks. He thought he would. He thought that it would silence the voices. He'd thought a lot of things.)

“I know.”

He speaks slow, each syllable a monumental task. Claude is here, Claude is looking at him, and it would be so easy to let go. Dimitri can feel it, the call of something deeper and primal and simple, where he can sink deep inside himself and think about all the lives that have been lost and how he's ended it, and how that was always going to be the last thing he did.

But Claude is begging him to stay in this grotesque world, this place where he's still drenched in blood that he's spilled, where he hurts from the dozens of cuts and scrapes and bruises and more debilitating injuries he's sustained over the course of the battle, where he's killed her and finished the circle. Claude is begging him to stay and Dimitri loves him, so he does.

His eyes flicker down for a moment and he nods numbly, reaching up to cover Claude's hand on his shoulder with his own. The movement evenly slices through the ghostly fingers on his arm and they fade, dissipate, but the ones on his throat are still there. The one on his jaw relents when he opens his mouth to speak again and he pushes through the darkness, focusing solely on Claude, Claude, _Claude_.

“...I'm with you.”

He mumbles it, but it sounds like there's not enough conviction behind it. Dimitri's brows furrow and he thinks about Claude in that damn jail cell a lifetime ago. He tries again, more grit to his tone as he fights his way back from the darkness.

“I'm here.”

Something tense in Claude's shoulders relaxes. He raises a hand to wipe the tears from Dimitri's face, smearing a bit of blood there as well. Claude’s hand bisects the last of the ghostly fingers and they fade away from him until Dimitri doesn’t feel them anymore, he only feels the hard stone of the ground beneath him and Claude’s thumb wiping gingerly at his cheeks.

“Stay.”

Claude slips closer, embracing him, anchoring him. In that moment, Claude holds nothing back, and he clings to Dimitri tightly, warmly, until slowly, Dimitri’s arms lift up to touch him in turn, feeling over the folds of his shirt, his armor, and it feels real. It feels solid.

For all that he's still shaken and unsure of what may be real and what isn't, Dimitri sinks into Claude's embrace as easy as breathing. He can feel Claude's own breath against his hair and it feels warm, like the rest of him. Warm and absolutely _present_ and Dimitri blinks slowly as he tries to make sense of it all.

“Don't leave me alone,” Claude begs him, and it's a plea from a boy who's never had anyone he felt like he could ask that of, who's left so much behind, who's always had to stand on his own.

Claude presses his forehead to Dimitri's, and his words are quiet between them.

“I know what you did for them. Now I need you to do this for me. I know it isn't fair, I know it's selfish of me to ask this of you.”

He's still holding on to Dimitri, seemingly uncaring of how Dimitri is bleeding on him, the mess, the fighting still happening. It's winding down, it doesn't matter, it's not close to them - what matters is here. This.

“_Don't leave me._”

Dimitri watches his mouth move around the words and they stir something quiet inside of him, a memory of when he'd said the very same words to Claude himself, the first time they kissed. He remembers the training grounds, the sunlight shining down along the stone walls of Garreg Mach, the dirt in Claude's hair after he'd pushed him down. He remembers feeling elated, adoring, terrified.

And now Claude reflects it back at him, all of the fear of being left alone coupled with the tentative vulnerability of a man who acutely knows how close his heart is to breaking. Dimitri hates that tone in Claude's voice suddenly, he doesn't want to hear him like this again, he'd do anything to keep him from feeling this way, even if it means gritting his teeth and forcing himself to stay grounded for the rest of his life.

It's easier with Claude's touch. With Claude's voice. With Claude's green eyes staring deeply into his own, and Dimitri takes a deep breath and tips his chin forward just slightly to kiss him.

The kiss isn't overly passionate, nor is it particularly deep or adoring. It's simply that - a brush of their lips, Dimitri looking for something to keep him tethered and finding Claude's mouth pressed against his own. Instinct. Muscle memory. He holds it for a beat longer than one might for a more casual kiss, but pulls back after a moment and brings the world back with him.

It's bright and there's suddenly _noise_, swords clashing and magic being fired off. Dimitri sees Felix out of the corner of his eye, fighting forward and plunging his sword into one of the last guards while Annette covers him. He turns his head slightly to see the rest of the bodies around him.

He realizes, distantly, that they've won the war.

“Claude.”

It's the only word his mouth knows to make. 

Dimitri turns back to look at him, biting at his lip and nods once - still fragile, not entirely recovered, but _here._ With time, he opens his mouth again, sounding out the statement in his head, turning it over in his mind, his brow furrowing as he finally gets it out.

“We won.”

And it means - it means he'll be king. It means that he can retake the Kingdom. It means that he'll rebuild. It means that all of this suffering, all of the violence and blood and senseless death would not be in vain. 

“We did,” Claude responds, emotion uncharacteristically choked in his voice as he slides a thumb along Dimitri’s cheek, affectionate, relieved. Dimitri is here - he's here, he's present and he gathers his strength to try and stand, shaky like a newborn calf.

“_You_ did,” Claude eventually corrects, bittersweet as he reaches up his arm to Dimitri’s shoulder, keeping him on the ground for a moment as he reaches for him. “Wait. Your hand.”

It’s not that Dimitri has forgotten about his wound - it ignites again into white-hot pain as Claude reaches for it, reaches to tear a piece off of his clothing to gingerly wrap around the gauntlet in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding until a healer arrives. It likely won’t do much, but they can’t remove the armor yet to see just how bad it is, so it’s all that can be done.

Claude’s eyes are on his wound, careful in his ministrations when he speaks again.

“I can't lose you.”

Dimitri winces as the sharp pain lances back up his arm, reminding him of the true extent of his injury. He can barely move his fingers a few millimeters and even _that_ gives him another spike or pain. With little other option, Dimitri grits his teeth and stays still while Claude wraps his injury with as much care as he can.

In a way the pain is... well, it's something to focus on, something to keep him aware of his surroundings, but Claude's words accomplish that and more. Dimitri lowers his gaze when Claude confesses to him and he thinks again about another time, what seems like years ago, in another life, when Claude had looked away and said _I'm probably in love with you_. He hadn't known what to do with that then. He hadn't known if he could reciprocate something like that, or even what Claude really meant by it, but when Claude says _I can't lose you_, when Claude begs _don't leave me_, Dimitri suddenly realizes that he knows now.

It's only now that he begins to truly understand the depth of Claude's feelings for him. Not that he's underestimated him before, but Dimitri has always felt things so viscerally and it's taken him long enough to learn that most others don't. His heart is an exposed nerve and has been since he was young, and he'd never properly learned how to protect it. What Claude is giving him now... what Claude _has_ given him - Dimitri thinks that he knows it more intimately than either of them would have expected.

“I love you.”

He says it as Claude is tucking the edge of the fabric in on his makeshift bandage to keep it tight. He says it quietly, but calm and with more resolve than he's felt in awhile. He says it because he _knows_ it, and somehow he's known it for too long without saying anything. Claude says _I can't lose you_, and Dimitri remembers feeling that way when he turned to face the Death Knight at Fort Merceus. He remembers feeling that way when he first saw Claude being shot out of the sky.

Goddess, he remembers feeling that way when his fingers were wrapped around Claude's shirt with the bars of his jail cell between them.

It seems so simple now, like something he's known this whole time. When it's put into words like this, when it's more devotion and need than it is a word that gets passed around in children's books and romantic folk tales, he understands it as well as if he'd written all of those pages himself. He loves him. He needs him.

Claude stares at him, his hands stilled on the fabric, clearly not knowing what to say. There’s surprise on his expression, shock, and he doesn’t seem to know how to respond, so Dimitri lets his gaze flicker downward, too _raw_ to be embarrassed but wishing that it was a better circumstance all the same.

He knows that this likely wasn't the best time - that they're in the middle of the throne room, that they're both still kneeling next to corpses with the fight all around them. But he doesn't - he's not sure if he could have _not_ told him. He still feels numb, a little like he's floating, and he sees no reason not to be honest so he is.

He's not sure if he would have said it just now if he hadn't been in such a state, but he knows that he'd feel it. All he can do is give it to Claude.

“I-”

Claude can’t seem to get the words out, but he clumsily finishes the tie on Dimitri’s hand and reaches out to press fingers against his cheek, turning Dimitri’s face up toward him again.

Then, Claude kisses him. A real kiss, one that’s deeper and more intense than the one they’d shared before, and they’re here in the middle of the throne room where anyone could look over and see but they can’t help it. Neither of them can.

“Dimitri, I love you.”

There’s a certainty in his voice, clarity, and Dimitri latches onto it for something to hold onto.

He's not sure if he would have said it just now if he hadn't been in such a state, but he knows that he'd feel it, he knows that he’s felt it for awhile now and seeing Claude's reaction, gasping as he's kissed with all the love and passion that Claude has given him for months now- he won't regret it, no matter who in this hall might see.

“Thank you.”

His tone is quiet, reverent. He wants to thank Claude for so much - for imprisoning him, for releasing him, for saving him, for reaching a hand down and pulling him out of the darkness and showing him a light that he could walk toward. He wants to show his gratitude in so many ways but he doesn't know how, so he does the only thing that he knows Claude wants from him and moves to shakily stand on his own legs so that he can learn how to step forward again.

Dimitri closes his eye, tension steadily draining from him until he's just exhausted and he wants to be with Claude, and he thinks he should maybe see a healer, but he'd rather just lay down and rest for a week straight. He lets out a deep breath and leans into Claude, looking back up again toward the balcony, where he knows that the people of Enbarr and their armies still in the capitol down below are watching with bated breath to see who steps into the sunlight, who is victorious among them.

He tips his head to look at Claude then, faltering for a moment. Dedue, having cleared the rest of the attendants with Felix, slowly moves behind him and Dimitri can hear his footsteps.

“...what now?”

Dimitri feels like he has to ask, but... it's obvious, isn't it? Just as he'd leaned in, Dimitri pulls back to try and stand on his own, forcing a breath and then two.

“You should go,” he eventually says, answering his own question. “Greet them.”

It's Claude who should go out there. This entire victory is thanks to him, and Dimitri is confident that he would have gotten here with or without him. If he wasn't the prince of Almyra, then Fodlan and all of its territories would likely be his, and this is more his celebration than anyone else's, so Dimitri nods slowly toward the sunlight where it streams onto the balcony, quietly removing himself from the picture.

Claude shakes his head, reaching out to grab at Dimitri’s arm again, keep him close to him, even if they are no longer embracing.

“No. Both of us. You deserve to greet them, alongside me.”

Dimitri knows he could pull away if he wanted to. Claude probably wouldn’t even fight him, but his voice is small when he continues, the truth of his desires coming to the forefront. 

“Please. Just stay by my side.”

Like in all other things, when Claude asks something from him, Dimitri relents.

He doesn't think he could deny Claude anything right now. He knows distantly that there are reasons he'd want to be seen here, particularly as Claude's future king, but he ignores the part of him that reminds him of all that is to come and all of Claude's plans for him and instead just nods, taking a deep breath and looking out toward the sunlight.

Dimitri still looks a wreck, and it's obvious that he's battle weary. There's blood on his face from when Claude touched his cheek, blood staining the fur of his cloak a dark red and turning the ends of his blond hair into sticky, wet clumps. Luckily his armor is black or it would be even worse - Edelgard had bled out over him, and right before that, his hand had been impaled just over his throat. There's nothing about him that particularly _feels_ kingly right now, but he thinks that Claude knows what he's doing and so he follows him.

“Alright.”

They move out together, the various Blue Lions who'd fought with them hanging back as guards in case more imperial loyalists are hiding in the shadows. Dimitri flinches in the sunlight but forces himself out anyway, alongside Claude, where he can look over the edge of the balcony and see...

...there's more people than he thinks he's ever seen in his life. Almyrans, men and women wearing the colors of yellow and blue, and people who he recognizes to be commoners from the streets of Enbarr who had come out to see what their future holds. He knows that to some, the sight of him will be a disappointment, but he thinks that to far more, it might be something of a relief. He's proven correct when the cheers start at the sight of them both - it's quiet at first, but grows louder and louder as the word spreads until even those so far back that they can't even see the two of them are yelling and stamping their feet.

_Him._ Wearing black, drenched in the blood of the Emperor, face obscured by an eyepatch and his unkempt hair, looking nothing like his father or even like Edelgard or Claude. He feels more like a revenant than a king, but he's greeted as if he is wearing the finest jewels and the most refined clothing in all the land.

Dimitri looks to Claude for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but approaches the edge of the balcony all the same, slow and quiet as he takes in the sight of the celebrating crowd below them both. He's cautious and watchful, as if he feels like any moment the crowd will turn and something will change for the worse, but they don't. Carefully, he raises his non-injured hand in an unpracticed motion, a gesture that he remembers his father making plenty of times throughout his childhood.

He doesn't have the sense to understand it yet, but something in him shifts just then, a gentle slide, locking into place as he sheds the skin of an avenger and steps delicately into the shoes of a king. The change is subtle, almost unnoticeable, but when he lowers his hand, he stands just a little straighter than he had before.

“...you would really have me rule,” he finally says to Claude without taking his eyes off of the crowd, incredulous but lightly stepping into the idea all the same, “you would trust me with this.”

Claude smiles, weary but genuine and seems to have eyes for nothing but him, standing there before the crowd.

“I trust you with my heart,” he admits quietly, and only Dimitri can hear him, “I would trust you with all of this.”

When Claude finally turns from Dimitri to look over the crowd, his expression is unreadable. Dimitri thinks he sees satisfaction in his brows, in the tilt of his smile, but it’s tinged with something else - melancholy, maybe, that makes his eyes glisten despite their victory. It seems hollow, bittersweet, so prone to breaking, and it makes him want to wrap Claude into his arms and take him back inside.

Dimitri is silent for a long moment and he feels the weight of that trust wrap around him like an embrace, rather than a burden. He knows he must rise to the occasion and be the man that Claude believes him to be, but with Claude at his side, it feels... inevitable, rather than heavy.

He watches as Claude looks out to the crowd and he thinks about saying something, like _this is because of you_, or _congratulations_ but the words are lost in his throat. Just seeing Claude finally embrace his victory, seeing him take pride in what he's done and finally look over the end result - it's enough to make Dimitri's heart swell with pride of his own, and he wants to kiss him there on that balcony in front of everyone, but he knows better than to do such a foolish thing as that. He _does_ hook his uninjured fingers against Claude's hand though, a quiet reassurance, a promise of togetherness that goes unseen past the railing of the balcony they're standing on.

A kingdom before him, _his_ kingdom, and he can only look at Claude. Dimitri smiles softly, a rare genuine thing, and turns to move back toward the shadow of the throne room and away from the crowd. There's still so much to do and he intends to do it, but first... a healer, a bed, a bath. Dimitri doesn't particularly care about the order.

“Take a squad and sweep the castle. We want our men to be able to sleep soundly tonight.” He instructs this to Felix, who bristles at being ordered but seems thankful for the dismissal all the same and moves to go with Annette at his heels. Dedue hangs back, ever the watchful guard, and Dimitri lets his shoulders fall as he finally faces Edelgard's body again, red on white on red at the center of the throne room.

She looks peaceful- or at least she might if the dagger were not still embedded in her chest. Dimitri steadies himself and looks for Claude to touch, to hold, to keep him here, even while he swears that her lilac eyes follow him around the room.

“...we'll need a burial,” he finally says, looking away. “There's likely a family crypt somewhere in the city. We will... she can be put to rest with her ancestors.”

Claude stays by him and nods, a quiet and grounding force.

“Yes. A quiet burial.” And then he sighs, squeezing at Dimitri’s good hand while his eyes go to where Dimitri is already beginning to bleed through the makeshift bandage around his other hand, “I regret that I didn't fight at your side. This was your battle, but I could have kept you from injury. Maybe.”

Dimitri follows Claude's gaze down to his injury, frowning at the words of guilt. And it's true, it still hurts - it hurts quite a bit actually, and if Dimitri were in a more stable state of mind then he might be more insistent on getting it taken care of, but there's Edelgard and the crowds and Claude nearby and so many other things that pull his emotions in a dozen different ways, something as trifling as a physical injury is lower on the priority list.

Still.

“You got me here.” There's no doubt in his mind about that. Dimitri knows that if Claude hadn't intercepted his path, he would have died long before ever making it to Enbarr. He knows that Claude is the only reason he's still standing - and what's more, Claude is the reason he's gotten the vengeance that he's so desperately needed all this time. That's what truly matters to him, not some injury that can be healed in time. “And you kept her guards off of me. That's all that matters.”

It's annoying that he can't hold Claude properly right now, but it will come back in time, and with healing. Dimitri leans in a little closer to him then - it's just Dedue in the room with them now, who politely looks away as Dimitri kisses Claude, gentle and sweet.

When he breaks the kiss, it's with a bit of a considering furrow to his brow.

“Though... healing would be nice.”

Claude smiles, and touches Dimitri's cheek for a moment, a brief and affectionate gesture.

“Let's find someone. You must be in pain.”

He leads Dimitri to the door of the throne room, turning their backs on Edelgard's body. They will bury her, and they will have ample time to think about how much things have changed, how many of their friends they've been forced to kill, how much suffering this war has put them through. For now, they should both focus on healing. On finding somewhere to rest.

Calling over the nearest Alliance soldier, Claude instructs her to find a healer - Mercedes, preferably, or Marianne, but anyone will do in a pinch. Then he leads Dimitri to a bench along the wall, cushioned in red, made of fine wood. Probably where petitioners sit while waiting to go before their Emperor. All he cares about is that it's intact and not too bloody.

“Here. Rest.”

Dedue takes up a post nearby, and soldiers are hurrying to and fro, securing the palace and searching it for any resistance left. This area is safe, though, as is clear by the bodies of the palace's defenders that lay scattered across the floor. Claude stays near Dimitri, if not quite as near as before.

Sitting feels better than it has any right to. Dimitri leans his head back against the wall and exhales, closing his eye for a moment while he can. He's tired, he's exhausted, and now the pain is beginning to settle in, like a low throb in his bones. His temple hurts from where it was bashed with the hilt of Edelgard's weapon, his legs are protesting with all the strain he's put on them: the marching, the running, the bruising from catching various blows to his armor. He's sure that his ribs are bruised as well, and through the splitting headache that's beginning to form, Dimitri isn't sure if there's anything on him that _doesn't_ hurt.

It’s here that Claude changes the subject, his tone going light - something to take their mind off of everything that just happened maybe, something to continue to drown out the voices in the back of his mind.

“I always wanted to visit here, you know. To see what it was like. I envisioned it a bit differently.”

Dimitri cracks his eye open to look toward Claude, considering that. He can't say that he's ever had similar thoughts - sure, at a young age, he hadn't known why Edelgard was staying with them, but as his father had explained it later he'd been horrified by the thought of an empire hunting its own princess. He'd thought of Enbarr as a cruel and manipulative place since, and though he knew his stepmother had come from such a place - not to mention Edelgard herself - he'd wanted little to do with it.

The aversion had lessened as he got older and realized that cruelty and manipulation exists everywhere, but still, he'd never particularly entertained the thought of being here next to the throne room in any circumstance except perhaps for negotiations, from King to Emperor.

That time is long past. Dimitri leans forward on the chair then and begins tugging off the impromptu bandages that he’s bleeding through, so that he can tend to the wound with a little more attention and care than they were able to muster before.

“How did you envision it?”

He asks, before gritting his teeth as he slowly tries to remove his glove. The armored plating on the back of his hand had been slashed away on impact, which he's a little thankful for, as it makes the glove more flexible to be removed... but the fabric itself is sticky and drenched in blood, caked to where the threads of the jagged edges are stuck to the wound.

Dimitri shudders but holds his hand straight and still with a tension that makes his shoulder tremble as he slowly and carefully peels off the once-supple leather, wincing as it pulls his fingers in a way that aggravates it.

But then it's off and the injury is... well it's as expected. The dagger had pierced him to the hilt, leaving a gash almost two inches long on both his palm and the back of his hand. It's still bleeding, albeit slightly less dangerously, and Dimitri wrinkles his nose and tries to re-tie the bandage so he can have it be tighter, cut off more blood flow. It isn't going well and after a moment he gives up and offers both his hand and the cloth toward Claude, who has clearly been restraining himself from trying to offer help.

It hurts, but he's not sure if he wants to talk about it. Instead, he tries to think of the current conversation, what Claude had been telling him about.

“I've never been here either. The political situation was always - ah, tense when I was growing up. My father would never bring me on his attempts at negotiations.”

Claude sets the bloody bandage aside and just tears off another piece of his cape - it's ruined anyway. Then he begins to bind Dimitri's hand, more carefully this time.

He seems to understand that talking is a distraction and so he continues the conversation as he carefully wraps Dimitri’s hand.

“I was more interested in the history. The Empire has been around much longer than the Alliance - or the Kingdom, even. I was sure they'd have books and artifacts and all kinds of things that I'd never find in Derdriu.” There’s a pause and Claude frowns. “My grandfather had no interest in bringing me here, though. He only barely acknowledged me, after all.”

Claude secures the bandage, beginning to look weary himself as the adrenaline wears off. He moves to sit a little closer to Dimitri, watching for a healer.

“There. Better?”

“Yes. I'm sorry to have ruined your cape.”

Not that the cape would have been fine otherwise. The two of them are both dirty from the fight, Dimitri a little moreso, but Claude's clothing stains far easier, being a lighter color. The cape was likely beyond saving even before Claude turned it into bandaging, but still - he looked nice in it and it's sad to see it destroyed.

Now that they're both relatively stable, Dimitri leans back alongside Claude, closing his eye again and relaxing against the stone. He's in too much pain to really be able to fall asleep, but he thinks that he might if he were given enough time.

“Perhaps a visit to the imperial library is in order then,” he murmurs on a yawn, slowly sinking down further and further until his head is pillowed against Claude's shoulder. It isn't comfortable with all of their armor on, but at least it's on Claude's right side so that his temple can rest in fabric rather than Claude's shoulder armor.

“...when things have settled down.”

Claude makes a soft sound, like a chuckle in the back of his throat and doesn’t admonish Dimitri for his weariness, despite the fact that there are soldiers who might see them, Dedue who is dutifully standing nearby.

Well. Dedue knows now regardless, there’s no getting around that fact.

“I'd like that. I want to see Fhirdiad, too.”

Of course, they will see it sooner or later, and Dimitri lightens to think on it - the army will be marching to Fhirdiad as soon as everything has been resolved here, as soon as they've had a bit of time to rest.

“You could show it to me.”

He's really going too far just leaning on Claude like this. He is the future king, he can't risk looking weak, but he's _so_ tired that he finds he can't force himself to stay upright. The adrenaline that kept him up throughout the battle - goddess, the burning _need_ that has kept him going for years - is finally crashing and he finds that he can barely keep sitting like this, let alone keep his eye open or keep his head up.

Despite all of that, the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile when Claude mentions Fhirdiad and he thinks of how nice that would be, to show it to him. He knows that Claude's first impressions of it will likely be just as violent as Enbarr, with them needing to retake it in a bloody battle, but maybe afterward, when they can make repairs and get the city cleaned up and returned to its original splendor... maybe then, he can show Claude the place he fell in love with as a child.

“You'd love it.” His eye is still closed but he murmurs it against Claude's shoulder, relaxed and soft. “White stone reaching toward the heavens. Statues of the saints, the goddess... rich blue banners streaming in the sun. I haven't seen it in years…”

Dimitri's voice grows wistful and tapers off as he thinks about it, his home. After the attack on Garreg Mach, he'd returned, but it was short-lived. As much as Dimitri tried to muster supporters, raise an army, he didn't have the time or foresight to protect himself politically and had been betrayed as a result, sentenced and shackled to a prison cell. When he'd left that cell, he hadn't looked back - for over five years now, he hasn't looked back.

Now, with Claude, he thinks he might be able to.

“It sounds beautiful,” Claude admits, “But it's cold, right? I'm gonna complain a lot. I’ll be really annoying.”

Maybe it's all right to be lighthearted now. They won. There's work ahead of them, misery in their recent pasts, but - right now, it's all right to enjoy this moment. Dimitri alive and sane, next to Claude. Their friends, alive. Their country, unified more or less, ready to be rebuilt.

Just for a moment, when no one is looking, Claude rests his cheek against Dimitri's hair.

“Not in the summer,” Dimitri says.

Though Faerghus summers are a good deal chillier than the season down South - it's not what he'd consider _cold_. Claude might, but he thinks that if there's no snow then there's no real reason to complain about it.

Dimitri likes hearing that tone in Claude's voice. He likes feeling the weight of his cheek against his head and thinking about how Claude and he have survived this, how they have many trials ahead but they also have... _this_, this thing between them that they both recognize.

Dimitri loves him. And on some level, that makes their bond even more terrifying: Dimitri could lose him like he's lost so many things, Claude will leave, his heart will get broken... but on the other hand, this adoration, this _love_, it's the first wholly positive thing that he's felt in what feels like forever. It's enough to make him want to keep going even through the rest of this mess, and remembering Claude's hand on his cheek, talking him through it, makes Dimitri want to follow him anywhere.

Even into this new world he wants to build.

“I'll give you our finest furs. Keep you indoors, near a fire. Warm you with our food.”

“Mm… you’ll keep me warm?” Claude teases softly, intimately, but Dimitri doesn’t respond. He's drifting a little now, settling in comfortably and feeling the urging of sleep begin to take him into its grasp. So at ease here, tucked against Claude with his eyes closed and his shoulders finally letting some of the tension drain from them, Dimitri doesn't notice the paired footsteps down the hallway.

Mercedes - that's good, someone has been able to find her to direct her here, she can look at his hand and try to heal what she can - but she's also accompanied by Judith, who marches toward Claude with a severe look in her eye.

Claude straightens quickly, which is enough to jostle Dimitri into opening his eye, refocusing as he sees the two women striding through the halls.

Mercedes either doesn't notice their familiarity or is very good at pretending she hasn't. Judith _does_ notice, her sharp gaze impossible to avoid, but she only rolls her eyes and does not remark on their position. 

“Finally,” Claude says with a sigh of relief, “his hand- “

But Mercedes already knows, of course, as if it weren't obvious already by the bloodied cloth around Dimitri's hand. She kneels in front of them on the bench and takes his hand, carefully unwrapping the bandage with gentle movements so that she can see the damage and heal him properly. It stings and she frowns as she looks over it.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers to Dimitri, quiet like a secret, and he nods while the soft green light envelops his palm.

“I’m glad you are too,” he responds, taking in a sharp inhale as his skin slowly knits itself back together.

While Mercedes heals him, Judith steps in front of Claude, her gaze severe - more severe than Dimitri has ever seen it. He doesn’t hear what she says, he’s too tired and she’s speaking in a hushed tone, and while he wants to care, he wants to know what’s going on, he’s simply too exhausted to push the issue.

She hands Claude a letter and Dimitri doesn’t know the contents of it, but whatever it is, Claude doesn’t seem happy. Again, Dimitri wants to ask, but Mercedes commands his attention, placing her hand on his wrist.

“This part is going to hurt,” she warns softly and Dimitri nods, tensing in anticipation as she jolts another surge of magic forward, one that jostles the bones of his hand back into the proper position from where they’d been displaced by the dagger and Dimitri grunts in pain, his teeth clenched.

There will be more. More healing, more resting, and he assumes that whatever business Judith has, well… they’ll deal with it soon enough. For now, Claude turns back to him while she strides away, tucks the letter into his pocket and places a hand on his shoulder as Mercedes takes care of the worst of it.

They’ll be ready for whatever comes next. They have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey! At least everything is over now - or is it?
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! This is my (Rae's) new favorite chapter... we hope you look forward to the next part of their journey!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their victory at Enbarr, plans have to change - and Claude has to tell Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh right, we're still following the Verdant Wind plotline, soooo... war's not over yet. These poor boys deserve a little rest, and maybe someday they'll get it.

They are meant to ride to Fhirdiad together, free Dimitri’s homeland, proclaim victory. That was the plan, until Hubert’s letter.

The moment Claude reads those words he knows their plan is in shambles. Dimitri won’t like it, _Claude_ doesn’t like it, but what choice does he have? None. None at all.

He sends Dimitri off to rest, knowing it’s desperately needed, and tries not to think how close they came to disaster. How close he came to losing Dimitri, how easily it could have gone another way. How he will have to leave Dimitri’s side, leave him to stand on his own, when it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do right now.

While Dimitri rests, Claude investigates. He’s tired too, of course, but he did not take the brunt of this battle and there is work to be done. He learns what he can from Hubert’s notes, from everything within the palace, and he quickly realizes what will need to happen. There’s a war council that evening, meant to solidify the plans for their march on Fhirdiad.

Now they will be marching on Shambhala as well.

Claude waits as long as he can before finding the room Dimitri has taken for himself. He won’t hesitate on this, he will tell Dimitri everything before the council begins, so they can stand united, so that it isn’t a horrible surprise. But Claude also knows Dimitri well enough to know that he'd ride out this evening if he felt it was necessary, and so doesn't tell him until after he's rested for at least a few hours. 

It doesn't mean Dimitri likes it. It doesn't mean he's particularly grateful in that moment.

Dimitri is quiet as Claude explains the situation as simply as he can, frowning as he recalls the threat that Claude is referring to. 

“It can wait,” he insists, his teeth gritting, “until after we get back from Fhirdiad. We're riding North.” It's firm, unquestionable, the demand of a king. “We - we made a vow.”

The truth is, Claude wants to go with Dimitri. He does. He wants to ride at his side and take Fhirdiad with him and see the look of victory on his face, see his happiness once his home is free again. He doesn't want to be apart from Dimitri, especially not after everything that has happened.

But he has to.

“_You're_ riding North,” he says.

He's done the calculations. This is what makes sense, because he did promise they would retake Fhirdiad, and he isn't going to go back on that. But this threat is far too large to ignore.

“Take your troops, and I'll send Nader, Judith, Leonie, and their battalions with you. The rest will accompany me to Shambhala.”

Claude hopes this leaves him with enough strength. While he can make a good guess at what awaits Dimitri in Fhirdiad - a battle against a small but desperate force - he doesn't know what he'll find in Shambala. But Nader and Judith are fierce warriors, and of course the Almyrans and the Hero of Daphnel fighting alongside Dimitri's Kingdom forces to free the capitol will go a long ways towards Claude's dream of unifying Fódlan, of reaching out to Almyra and other lands.

It would be better if he were there, for a thousand reasons.

“I have to, Dimitri. After what they've done, after what they did to Fort Merceus, every moment we leave their stronghold unassailed is a moment they could be creating some new plan that will ruin everything - kill more people, draw us back into war. It can't wait.”

This isn't the first time they've argued over strategy. Dimitri is not a fool, but his tactics tend toward straightforward attacks and a reliance on strength. Claude doesn't like the uncertainty inherent in that kind of plan, and always prefers more creative tactics. He's never taken their arguments personally.

But this isn't exactly just another argument over the council table.

It's as if the thought of separating from Claude had never crossed his mind. When Claude corrects him Dimitri looks affronted, which shifts into angry and hurt all at once.

“Then I go with you,” he says.

Claude knows that Fhirdiad can't wait, either. The longer they stay out of it, the longer Imperial loyalists have to flee, to Sreng or across the sea or any number of other places where they will never answer for their crimes. The longer Dimitri's people go without competent leadership and suffer under the thumb of a crumbling Empire that could desire vengeance.

But in that moment, he wishes so deeply that they'd forgive Dimitri for leaving them just a little longer. It feels cruel to tear them apart just when Dimitri has found some balance, just when he might need Claude the most. Dimitri takes a step closer, pleading.

“You don't know what's down there. I'm not going to leave you to the unknown, Claude. I won’t-” He's still tired, his voice a little hoarse from how hard he's slept, and perhaps that's why it breaks right there. “- I won't let these people take anything more from me.”

Claude's heart, too, breaks a little at the emotion in Dimitri's voice. The truth is, he doesn't entirely know what to do with words like that. He doesn't know how to react. His own parents let him leave on his own, as little more than a child, and travel to a land that they had to know would not look kindly on him. How is he supposed to react when someone is concerned for his safety, when they don't want to lose him?

His first instinct is to brush it off, to laugh, to make a joke of it. To reassure Dimitri with his flippant nature, because if Claude smiles so easily, surely there can be no danger - surely nothing can be wrong.

But Claude isn't sure that will work anymore. Not with Dimitri.

He steps closer, too, and he brings his hands up to cup Dimitri's face. He's tall - too tall for Claude to easily look him in the eye, so he draws Dimitri's gaze down to him, running his thumb across the line of Dimitri's jaw.

“I don't know what's down there, it's true. But you have to trust me. Trust my strength, and trust my allies.” He can't be flippant in this moment. Instead he is honest, sincere. It seems easier with Dimitri than it has been with anyone else. “Fhirdiad needs you. It's been waiting for you all this time. And me -”

Claude smiles then.

“Nothing's going to take me from you.”

He means that. He has no intention of allowing whatever lurks in Shambhala to kill him, and he has every intention of returning to Dimitri's side. Not just now, either. When he leaves for Almyra - something he tries not to think about too much, because he doesn't want to leave Dimitri - he already knows he'll come back. He'll use all his schemes and all his skill to come back with a way for them to be together.

Shambhala is nothing compared to that.

Brought in close like this with Claude's hand on his face, Dimitri looks uneasy but he presses his cheek into the other man's palm all the same, looking into his eyes, dissatisfied and miserable at what Claude is proposing.

“I thought... I thought it would be awhile yet until you left me,” Dimitri admits, and surely he knows that his words will cut, but Dimitri has always had difficulty seeing beyond his own pain. He must need to know that Claude suffers under the weight of his own decision. That their eventual separation eats at him in the same way, that it keeps him up at night, sick with longing.

It does hurt. Claude wants Dimitri to believe in him, to believe that he'll come back. But can he really blame him for feeling the way that he does?

His hands fall, and he looks away.

“This isn't - I'm not leaving you.”

Claude doesn't want to be apart for even this long. He has to go back to Almyra eventually, he knows, and he will, but until then he wanted to be near Dimitri as much as possible. He wanted to stay by his side, and sneak Dimitri into his room at night, sleep next to him, walk through the halls of the monastery or the castle in Fhirdiad or - anywhere. Anywhere, as long as they could be together.

But Claude has always put survival ahead of his personal desires, and that's what it comes down to now. Survival for them, and survival for Fódlan. It doesn't matter what he wants, not really. Not until they're all safe.

“If I could take you with me, I would. If I could go with you, I would. But we can't waste time, not just for my own personal desires. Too many people could die.”

He tries to take Dimitri's hand now, wanting him to understand, hurting because he's not sure that Dimitri does. Claude doesn't want to do this. He is suffering. But there is no other choice.

Dimitri lets Claude take his hand and presses their fingers together. The healing magic left a scar on his palm and the back of his hand that it still feels odd to the touch, but it will likely go away as his body heals the damage that the magic couldn't suture back together.

“...I know,” he says.

Of course Dimitri cares about his people too. At one point, he had cared so much about them that it nearly destroyed him. Claude knows that Dimitri cannot, would not leave them to their fate as he goes gallivanting around old ruins with Claude, as much as it may pain and anger him.

Dimitri sets his jaw tight and moves closer to Claude, taking this private moment for themselves to press in close and tip his head down so that his chin brushes against Claude's hair. Close. Intimate, in a way. When he speaks again, his voice is low, but not as emotionally charged.

“If anything happens to you down there, I will never forgive myself for letting you go.”

But he must let him go. They both know it. Dimitri has been gone from his homeland for far too long and as much as he'd resisted the title at first, he is a king. He cannot go. Claude cannot stay. It is irreconcilable and it breaks his heart. 

“I love you,” Dimitri says quietly.

Claude holds Dimitri's hand for a long moment. Then he brings it up, pressing his lips to the just-healed scar on his palm. He wants to step closer, to press against Dimitri, feel his warmth and his strength and maybe offer some of his own strength in return. Make him understand that Claude would rather be by his side, would rather never leave it.

His lips still brush against Dimitri's palm when he speaks.

“I love you.”

He didn’t expect to ever hear those words from Dimitri’s lips. He's not sure he'll ever get used to hearing them. He's not sure it will ever feel like less of a thrill, knowing that Dimitri loves him, that he loves Claude enough to say it out loud, to want to keep him safe, to even become angry that he can't. Of course, Claude needs to be free to do what he must and he doesn't want Dimitri to be upset about it - but at the same time, those small things that tell him Dimitri really does care about him are more valuable than he can put words to.

“If anything happens to you in Fhirdiad, I will never forgive myself for going.”

Thankfully, Claude thinks this is unlikely. Dimitri's task will not be easy, but they know the danger there, and they can prepare for it. Claude does not doubt that Dimitri will handle it, that his strength and his skill are far more than what will be needed. But still, there is always the chance that things could go wrong, and then - well, then Claude will be left to live with his regret.

He can't stand the thought of it. He knows that Dimitri must feel the same way.

He does step closer then, pressing his body against Dimitri, still holding his hand, bringing it to his lips again.

“I will return to you. I promise.”

Dimitri’s scar is still sensitive enough that Claude’s lips against it cause Dimitri's breath to hitch. The promise, too, seems to ease some of the weight from his shoulders.

“That's all I ask,” Dimitri murmurs and watches Claude kiss at his hand, his eyes flickering downward with the memory of the injury.

They might not have time for this, but they can be together so rarely and Dimitri must need him, must need to have that promise seared into his skin, and so he leans down and kisses Claude with intent, capturing his mouth in something warm and insistent, something that rings of the same desperate need that Claude feels when he thinks about leaving Dimitri, now or ever.

He breaks the kiss after a moment, his brow furrowed.

“...how long until the council?”

When Dimitri kisses him like that it's impossible not to respond - his heart, his mind, his body. They snatch whatever moments they can, and it's never enough. Whenever Claude is close, he wants to be closer, and at least he knows he's not alone in this. At least he knows that Dimitri feels the same, feels like their stolen minutes are never enough.

“We have a little time,” he says, soft. Not as much as he would like, but enough for something quick and intense, some small reminder that he is Dimitri's and Dimitri is his. Claude doesn't need any convincing, not after everything they’ve been through today, not after everything they still must do. His hands are already tugging Dimitri's shirt free, sliding underneath to stroke his skin. “They can't start without us.”

True, but they also can't afford to make the entire council wait too long. Still, a minute or two, or more - that should be okay. With everything to take care of now that the war is over, there will probably be someone else who's late too.

That's the logic Claude uses to convince himself this is a good idea, anyway. And it's easy, because he'd much rather be here with Dimitri than arguing with nobles and generals.

He pushes Dimitri gently back towards the bed. They can't really afford the time it would take to get undressed, but at least he can get them on the same level so it'll be easier to touch Dimitri, easier to make him feel good. There are a lot of things Claude would like to do, but all he really wants now is to quench this need, to remind them both that darkness, death, and even this brief parting can't change what they are to each other.

Dimitri lets out his breath in a rush of air as Claude lifts up his shirt to touch him. He's changed his clothing since the battle and bathed quickly before sleeping so when Claude reaches for him, he isn't covered in the blood and grime of the fight and his clothes are loose fitting, something that he could easily sleep in. With their victory had come a quick moving of supplies, leaving him with a few changes of clothes that they'll need to look through before the war council, as he can't exactly show up looking like this.

They'll worry about that later, though. For now, Claude is touching at his stomach, his ribs, and Dimitri clearly has other ideas about being backed into the bed. He reaches around Claude to lift him almost effortlessly with a sly little smirk, his arms wrapped around Claude's thighs.

“And what scheme do you have up your sleeve to explain the marks I'm going to leave on you?” he asks, all teeth in his smile as he cranes his neck up for a kiss. Dimitri doesn't hold it - or Claude - for long though and turns to dump him onto the bed, the springs squealing in protest but holding as he moves to climb over the other man, his hair hanging low over his face.

Claude likes that - really, it's a little embarrassing how much he likes it when Dimitri does that, when he lifts Claude like it's nothing. It's not the strength itself so much as knowing that it's Dimitri, that Dimitri would never use it against him, that their connection means something.

It's like his wyvern. Strong enough, fierce enough, to destroy Claude in an instant if it wished. But it doesn't. It obeys his commands, turns at his hand, fights for him, obeys without hesitation. Claude is smaller, weaker, vulnerable, but never at its mercy.

Dimitri is, perhaps, not quite like that. Not so obedient, not so subservient. But still _Claude's_, just as Claude is his, right down to his bones.

He tangles his fingers in Dimitri's hair and pulls him down to kiss him roughly, hungry.

“Everyone's gained a few bruises from this fight. Maybe mine are just a little odd-looking.”

His voice is light, but his intentions are clear. Claude's never asked Dimitri not to leave marks, and he's never going to. The nobles can wonder and gossip and chalk it all up to the chaos of war if they wish. It isn't going to stop Claude from doing exactly what he wants to do.

Dimitri knows, they both know, that they don't have time. He knows that they can't take this slowly or tenderly, even if it is the largest bed that they've ever been in (hardly a surprise considering the tiny dorm beds that they've grown accustomed to sharing). They have a time limit and he knows that it's inflexible, so he moves quickly to the point, leaning in for another biting kiss while he tugs up Claude's shirt in turn, pressing his calloused fingers over the various bruises he's gotten in battle, bruises not of Dimitri’s making for once.

Claude catches the hem of his own shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift movement, only wincing from those bruises briefly. It was a fierce fight, after all. But he ignores that, stretching up to kiss Dimitri hard, reaching down to slip a hand inside his pants and touch him. He's going to make the most of what little time they have.

Dimitri sharply inhales when Claude touches him, his back arching into the sly sensation of Claude's fingers pressing easily into his pants like it's nothing. Claude knows Dimitri likes it when he's forward like this, and Dimitri lets out a low rumble of satisfaction now that Claude has established the pace, leaning down to press his mouth over all the newly exposed skin that Claude has revealed to him.

He leans over Claude, pressing his palms against the blanket - but then pulling his injured hand back with a little wince, flexing his fingers a little in response to the sudden shock of pain. Claude stops for a moment too, worried about Dimitri’s injury, but when he returns his attention to Claude he looks more embarrassed than hurt. Flushing a little, he compromises by going down to his elbows instead, which gets him far closer to Claude anyway.

Dimitri licks at his collarbone, leaving a wet trail across his skin with his mouth, tonguing at a bruise that he didn't cause before shifting to scrape his teeth over a nipple. His gaze is wolfish, refocused now on his task of making Claude breathless with want as he attentively dotes on his chest with teeth and tongue.

It is not difficult at all for Dimitri to make Claude breathless. If it were anyone else, maybe that would embarrass Claude a bit - or maybe not. He's never been one to be ashamed of what he wants, and especially not with Dimitri. Dimitri deserves to be with someone who has no hesitation about being with him, who loves him deeply and fully, who isn't afraid and who doesn't hold back.

Or maybe it's just that Claude thinks that, that Dimitri deserves the world, and Claude wants to give it to him. They have thick stone walls around them instead of thin canvas, so Claude doesn't have to bite back his breathless sighs of pleasure. He wishes they had more time, all the time in the world.

He wishes that, and so it’s less surprising when, after a few languid moments of just this - touching, tasting, murmuring in satisfaction - Dimitri glances upward, resting his chin on Claude's sternum for a moment.

“When are you leaving?” he asks suddenly - not the best time maybe to bring this back up again, but Claude doesn’t think that it’s to argue again. There are so many things Claude wants to do together and so little opportunity to do half of them on the road to some fortress or other. When is the next time they can share a bed together? When will they finally be able to take time for themselves and spend hours paying loving attention to one another’s body? “I need to know - if this is the last time until then.”

It's a little hard to think when Dimitri is right there, when he's just lifted his lips from Claude's flushed skin. Still, he catches his breath, manages to collect a few thoughts, at least.

“A few days. The troops need time to recover, and we need more supplies.” He reaches down, strokes his thumb along Dimitri's cheekbone in a carelessly affectionate gesture. “A few days, and all of those nights are yours, if you want them.”

It might not work out that way, and Claude knows they both know that. Some planning sessions may go late into the night, or Claude may work so hard at something necessary for their attack on Shambhala that he falls asleep at his desk. But if he can, if he's able to - his door will always be open to Dimitri. Or he'll search him out, coax him away from whatever problem occupies his mind.

It's impossible to march an army immediately, especially not after a battle like this one. So they have a few days, a few nights, that Claude wants desperately to make the most of.

“Of course. Although someday…” Dimitri lets out a ghost of a smile as he thinks about it, “someday I want your days as well as your nights.”

Dimitri moves to sit up a little straighter and tugs off his shirt, setting it aside before leaning over Claude again, kissing at his jaw and balancing on one arm so that his other can slip down and tug at the hem of Claude's pants.

“I want to eat my meals with you,” he murmurs, unlacing, “tend to the wyverns with you…”

His fingers slip inside then, wrapping firmly around Claude and beginning to stroke at him.

“...go on walks with you-”

Dimitri kisses him then. It's a fantasy, their positions in this war mean that they can't idle away such time, especially not together, but - but someday. Someday when everything is over, before Claude leaves for Almyra, someday, they can insist on one perfect day like this.

It's like a dream, imagining that. Claude wants it in a way that he's not sure he's ever really wanted anything else - wants that peace, that quiet day with Dimitri, where neither of them have anything in the world to worry about except each other. Where he could spend the day trying to keep that smile on Dimitri's face, could adore him the way that he wants to.

They don't live in a world where that's possible. Not now, anyway. Even with the bulk of the war over, with the Empire fallen and Edelgard gone, there are threats they must face. And even when all the fighting is over, they'll need to rebuild.

Will there be a day where they can steal that kind of time for themselves?

Claude wants to believe it'll be possible. Someday.

“I want that,” he says, breathless, and he moves his hips with Dimitri's touch. He's fumbling at Dimitri's pants again too, wanting to touch him, though it's admittedly harder to focus when Dimitri's hand is on him like that. Still, he manages to slide his hand past that fabric barrier and stroke Dimitri's cock, trying to match his pace. “I want to wake up next to you. Kiss you in the sunlight -”

Even more of a fantasy. Though the illusion that their affair is a secret is growing rather thinner than Claude would like, he knows that's only true among those who know them best. The nobles of the Alliance, and especially of the Kingdom, can't know of this - at least, not now. Not yet.

But maybe that too, someday.

He kisses Dimitri hungrily, hand moving on him.

“You do look beautiful with the sun in your hair.”

Dimitri flushes, though whether that's due to the compliment or Claude's fingers wrapping around him isn't entirely clear. It’s so pleasant to imagine it just for a moment, walking through the gardens together, Dimitri tucking his hair back and leaning in for a kiss - impossible. The politics of this land would never allow for such a thing.

It isn't a matter of gender - though for some it may be - as much as it is status. Romance between the two of them would only harm them both politically and start rumors that would undermine both of their efforts and their various goals. With Claude's reputation as a schemer, Dimitri's hold on his people would be weakened as they would wonder who was really pulling the strings... and with Dimitri eventually moving to take the Alliance, he would lose the respect of nobles who may believe he'd attained that power through less-than-honorable means.

No, there are valid reasons why they must keep secret, but that doesn't mean that either of them need to be pleased with the state of affairs that it leaves them with. But right now, it doesn't matter. What matters now is that they’re together, so close, and they won't have that for much longer so they need to make the most of it now. 

Dimitri leans in and presses a kiss just under his ear, slowly trailing his lips downward as he shifts forward in Claude's grasp and the two of them find a slow and easy rhythm against one another.

“I can't - can you, uh…”

It's tricky to balance like this, and Dimitri has to move his hand away from his cock and instead use it to keep himself upright on the bed. To make up for it, however, he pauses a spare second to get their pants down further so that he can press his hips downward and brush up against Claude, skin on skin.

“I've got you,” he says. It's more of a moan of pleasure than an actual sentence, but he's sure Dimitri will get the drift of it, especially when Claude wraps his hand around them both. The slide of Dimitri's cock against his own is intense and intimate, and though it's a little unwieldy, when they're this close Claude can stroke them both at the same time.

Dimitri growls, dark and satisfied in the back of his throat while he works to bite a deep mark into the gentle slope of Claude's shoulder.

There is probably something serious off in Claude's brain that makes him like it so much when Dimitri bites him. It hurts, but never enough to do anything but make the pleasure burn even brighter (or maybe Claude is just a bit of a masochist). He likes the hunger, the edge of possessiveness. He'll gladly wear any mark Dimitri wants to leave on him.

Probably there's something wrong with him.

In the back of his mind, he's aware that they don't have a lot of time left, that they're supposed to be somewhere - so he doesn't draw it out, as much as he'd like to make Dimitri feel good for as long as possible. As much as he'd like more. They'll have time for that, he thinks, they will. He speeds up his strokes, arching up against Dimitri, breath coming faster.

“Ah - sometimes I feel like you want to eat me alive -”

And Claude does not sound at all bothered by that prospect. On the contrary. He says it with affection, with desire, with a certain amount of need. He wants Dimitri so badly, all the time.

Dimitri hums in satisfaction at that, pressing into Claude's fingers and moving with him, keeping his pace and making it easier for Claude to press the two of them together. 

“Maybe I do,” he threatens, biting at him again, leaning down and covering Claude with his body until he feels somehow that they can slip together and become the same being. 

His elbows supporting him on the bed, Dimitri’s fingers slide into Claude's hair, gripping tightly as the pace of Claude's fingers increases, insistent, and Claude can feel him getting more and more tense, getting closer to the edge, and then he’s _there_.

He uses his grip in Claude's hair to pull, arching the other man's head back while Dimitri finally goes for his throat, biting down sharply as he comes over Claude's fingers and stomach, fucking weakly into Claude's hand and panting his way through it, his teeth latched onto Claude's skin like it's a lifeline.

It's so overwhelming, being with Dimitri like this. Even now, even when they can't take their time, it's so _much_, Dimitri's hands and his mouth and his body against Claude's. It's everything he could want, and it only makes him want more, his selfish need for as much of Dimitri as he can possibly get.

Dimitri moving against him, the tension of his body as he comes, his lips and teeth on Claude's neck - that's more than enough to push Claude over the edge, more than enough to make him come, gasping and moving up against him, his grip around them both slipping as he moves, but it doesn't really matter anyway because all that's left is to shudder through it.

After, all Claude wants to do is relax bonelessly into the bed - a big bed, a comfortable one, much nicer than what they've been able to share before - and pull Dimitri close. All he wants to do is run his fingers through Dimitri's hair and kiss his temple and breathe him in. And, for a few moments, he can do that. For a few moments, all he does is exist there, with his lover, messy and sticky and entirely content.

It can't last, but Claude holds onto it for a little longer than he really should.

“Dimitri…” He laughs, quiet, amused with himself. “Mitya.”

_Dimitri_ feels like too much of a mouthful when he's this content. Of course, Dimitri has never been the sort of person that nicknames fit well on, but Claude's also never let that stop him before - and the old names, your princeliness, that sort of thing, seem too mocking for the truth of Claude's feelings these days.

So he tries that one on. Just once.

“You're heavy.”

When he hears his name on Claude's lips, Dimitri stirs, but the sound of a nickname makes him pull off entirely, blinking in mild surprise and eventually rolling to the side where he can be next to him, pressing his chin against Claude's shoulder. 

“Mitya,” he repeats thoughtfully, hushed against Claude's ear, “I haven't been called that since I was a child.”

He pauses, silent for a long moment. Thinking about that childhood, maybe, about all that was lost.

“I like it.”

To be honest, Claude feels a bit proud of himself. While he didn't try the nickname out in order to tease Dimitri, he didn't expect Dimitri to like it. But he likes the idea of something like that - something soft, something quiet for these moments when it's just the two of them. He likes the sound of it on his lips.

He likes having a little piece of Dimitri that's just his.

He turns on his side to face Dimitri, cupping Dimitri's face in his hands and kissing him.

“I like you,” he says, soft.

Dimitri smiles at that, tipping his chin forward to meet Claude's lips. It's a nice kiss and he lingers in it for a moment too long, opening his eye slowly when Claude breaks it and just watching him.

It’s a silly response, maybe, but Claude fully intends to make sure Dimitri knows Claude's feelings for him as often as possible. All those years alone - there's a lot of missed affection to make up for, and Claude would like to be the one to do it. Whenever he can, anyway.

He knows, also, that there is a time limit on this. He has hope that there will be a chance for them, that he can put a plan into action - but even if everything goes perfectly, he'll be leaving Dimitri. For a few weeks now, and maybe even a few years later. Claude can make all the schemes and plans that he wants, it won't change that he'll eventually have to leave Dimitri's side.

When that happens, he wants Dimitri to remember this feeling. Claude's love - a gift without value, perhaps, but not one easily given.

“They're probably wondering where we are.”

Dimitri lets out a small sound when Claude brings up their pressing obligations.

“Just a moment longer,” he asks softly, curling in further against Claude, pressing his mouth against the gentle curve of his shoulder, never taking his eye off of Claude's face. Dimitri hooks his leg around Claude's, locking it tight, keeping him close.

He'll need this, Claude thinks, when Dimitri is taking Fhirdiad and Claude is in Shambhala. He'll need this memory and all the memories he intends to make over the course of the next few days. They both will, desperately so.

Claude doesn't think there is any possible universe in which he'll get tired of Dimitri looking at him like that, touching him like that. Like he's something precious, something valuable, like Dimitri wants to be there with him more than anything. Maybe it's projection. Claude, of course, wants nothing more than to be there with Dimitri.

But they have obligations. Too many of them, really, but that's the burden of power. Claude chose to take this on, and Dimitri has accepted it as well - and in fact, neither of them could have avoided it. When you're born to royalty, responsibility is your birthright. It's that or running an entire country to ruin.

“...alright,” Dimitri says finally, reluctantly. He moves to sit up, adjusting his pants and looking for his shirt. They'll need to wash - to brush out their hair, to maybe find something with a high collar for Claude to wear, but they can do it quickly enough. Dimitri stands, stretching as he heads toward the bathroom to at least make an attempt at looking like he hasn't just had sex with Claude instead of being briefed and preparing for the war council.

Claude takes another moment for himself, watching Dimitri walk toward the bathroom. He does not even try to pretend he isn't enjoying the view, though it might be even nicer if Dimitri hadn't fixed his pants.

It feels impossible sometimes that he has this, that Dimitri is with him, that Claude can touch him and kiss him and learn every part of him. That he can casually ogle Dimitri and it won't be unacceptable, it won't be invasive. (Well, maybe a little bit invasive. But to be fair, Dimitri doesn't seem to notice.)

Reluctantly, Claude forces himself to get up too, and to begin the unrewarding process of making himself fit to face the council. There is little he wants less to do than that - to face a collection of nobles and tell them the war isn’t over yet, there’s a bigger threat on the horizon, and they cannot rest.

But he has to, and so he will. At least Dimitri will be there at his side for now.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri meet up again after their respective battles and prepare to face a new threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MASSIVE thank you to Cosu, who was inspired by our Dimiclaude fics to draw [these wonderful pieces](https://twitter.com/guessibetter/status/1200606136384155648?s=20)!!! They are SO gorgeous, I'm lost for words...

Fhirdiad is his, but he can't enjoy it for long.

Although he misses Claude after being separated from him for the first time since the jail cell, Dimitri finds that he's a capable leader and victory over the defeated Imperial army is easily manageable. Cornelia is another matter altogether, but with his allies behind him, she finds her defeat all the same.

Her final words stay in his mind throughout their victory, spoiling the sweetness of stamping out the Empire from his city. Dimitri takes to the balcony once more, greets his people as their king, and steals himself back into the fortress where he can recover from the fight and _think_, look back on everything he can remember about his stepmother with different eyes.

Dedue pulls him out of his reverie as he has done many times now, with a letter. _A letter from Claude_ he says, and Dimitri reaches for it too quickly, tearing open the wax seal to quickly scan the contents of it.

He reads it again, incredulous. Again.

“...Dedue,” Dimitri finally says, his voice low. “Call a war council - no, there isn’t time for that. Get Judith and Nader. Tell the stablemaster to prepare the fastest horses available.”

“Your highness?” Dedue asks him, confused but standing at attention, ready to obey his command.

“We must ride for Garreg Mach immediately,” he explains, though it’s less of an explanation than Dedue deserves. Who would believe him if he told them the contents of the letter - that _Nemesis_ is alive, that he is marching on Claude’s armies? The others might see it as a prank or even some sort of scheme now that Edelgard is out of the picture, but Judith and Nader would know.

Dimitri stands, moving for the hall and Dedue follows him, nodding.

“I will ride out with the Almyrans - along with Leonie, Ingrid, and Felix. We go as the vanguard. I am entrusting you to bring the rest of my army to me at Garreg Mach.”

There’s a hesitation there that Dimitri can sense, Dedue faltering in that moment - what if they refuse to follow him? What if they don’t believe him when he tells them of Dimitri’s plan?

But there isn’t time for that. Dimitri twists his fingers around his signet ring, which he’s only just recovered from the rooms here in Fhirdiad, before pressing it into Dedue’s hands.

“The stablemaster. I’ll find Judith.”

“As you say.”

He goes.

_

By the timing of it, the letter had been sent before Dimitri's capture of Fhirdiad and so the urgency of it could not be understated. It was scrawled in Claude’s hurried handwriting, not long, just enough to tell Dimitri of the situation.

Claude is in trouble. All of Fódlan is in trouble - and just when they thought that they were ending this war.

Dimitri rides forward with Felix, Ingrid, and Claude's borrowed troops - Leonie, Judith, Nader - leaving the main bulk of his army behind with Sylvain and Dedue to lead it, for expediency of _getting there_ on time. 

The smaller party rides faster, harder, at a rate that almost kills their horses, with no stopping for needs so basic as sleep or food - they sleep on horseback, taking shifts to lead, they eat on horseback, passing supplies back and forth to one another. At a small village in the halfway point, they exchange their horses for fresh mounts and ride again. Dimitri had told them the contents of the letter and the anxiety in Judith's brow was enough to know that this sort of deranged travel is worth it.

They make it to Garreg Mach in two days' time. It's still standing when they arrive.

The gates lower for them as Ingrid takes flight, doing a quick surveillance to ensure that the armies of Nemesis are not already upon them. When she confirms that things are not quite as dire, there's a soft breath of relief at the knowledge that they've made it.

But it isn't enough to be here on time. They have to _win_. Judith and Nader immediately go to find Claude and Dimitri thinks that Judith spares him a knowing sort of glance while he follows, but he can't see her very well on his right side.

The relief of arriving on time ebbs away and in its stead comes how intensely he’s missed Claude, with a brutal passion that he's felt since the moment they'd parted in Enbarr. 

Preparations need to be made if they're both going to make it out of this alive. The three of them will find him sooner or later, but Dimitri knows that he won't be able to have the joyous or heartfelt reunion he wants, it'll likely just be preparation and debriefing on everything that's happened since the last time they parted.

He's exhausted - they all are. He's wary and anxious and a small part of him is even afraid, but that all fades into memory the moment that he finally catches sight of the Alliance leader in the courtyard as they make their way to him.

Claude is deep in conversation with two of the battalion commanders when Dimitri arrives. He looks up, and -

It's alarming. It's frightening how much they need one another.

Have they gotten so used to being so close? They practically lived in each other's pockets during the last days of the march on Enbarr and in those days after the capital fell. Claude found his way to Dimitri's room nearly every night and during the daylight hours they were often in the council room together or out seeing to the troops or beginning rebuilding efforts. _Together._ He'd gotten used to it, even knowing that he shouldn't.

They have a thousand things to discuss. Marching orders, battle plans, intelligence from their scouts. Even discounting those things, Dimitri is exhausted from his travels.

But all of that seems to slip out of his mind when he sees Claude.

Claude meets his eye just there and in a heartbeat, Dimitri can read him and see that it’s much the same with him, that if the others weren’t around them, they might have fallen into one another’s arms just there.

“Excuse me,” is what Claude eventually manages, but the commanders seem to understand. Dimitri is their greatest ally and their future king. Whatever concerns they have can wait in light of his arrival.

And that's good, because Claude immediately turns from them to cross the distance to Dimitri - _not_ flinging himself into Dimitri's arms as he might wish, but reaching out to clasp his forearm, a greeting between two warriors.

Dimitri's heart leaps to his throat, and the feeling of his fingers against his arm is like the first well of sunlight after a cold winter. Dimitri goes weak for it and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out immediately. He looks Claude up and down, checking for any sign of injury or anything that might alarm him but he looks fine. He looks... beautiful, and every bone in Dimitri's body aches with the need to embrace him, but he barely holds himself back, clasping onto Claude's arm in turn with fingers tight like a vice.

If they hold one a little longer than they should, that can be excused.

“Dimitri. You came so quickly.”

He doesn't want to let go, but he must. It's only then that he finds his voice.

“We weren't certain when you would be attacked.” The concern bleeds through, but he hopes that only Claude knows him well enough to hear that tone in his voice. “We rode ahead of the army, as fast as we could to come to your aid. The bulk of my forces should be here in a couple of days.”

Dimitri can't look anywhere but Claude as the others file in and... is his hair a little longer? Is that a bruise on his wrist? He wants to categorize every change in him, and then lock him up and keep him close so that he'll never change without Dimitri again.

But that's - he knows it's silly, he knows that there's far worse in store for the both of them, but goddess, it's good to see him again.

He tries to think back to the task at hand, the strategies he's considered, some of the discussions he's had with both Judith and Nader during the easier parts of their mad ride for Garreg Mach.

“If the enemy forces attack before then, we can abandon the monastery and retreat to the Kingdom to meet up with my army. Four additional noble houses have declared for me with the taking of Fhirdiad - it should be a sufficient force in addition to yours.”

Sufficient for... _what_, he doesn't know. The letter had seemed almost nonsensical, but he trusts Claude to know what he's doing. Dimitri speaks like a leader, like he's considered the troop movements and the reasoning behind them; taking Fhirdiad had done him some good, even if he'd had to do it alone.

“We didn't know how quickly they would advance,” Claude responds, reorienting himself to this, to what they need to get out of the way. “They're taking their time - but only because they're laying waste to every settlement between them and us.”

That thought brings them both back down to earth, away from the momentary joy at seeing one another again. They do, in fact, have important things to discuss. They have a country to save, a people to protect. They have a war that they need to bring an end to.

“I think we'll have time for your forces to join us, but if not, we will need that plan. What I would like to do, if we are able to, is ride out to meet Nemesis. I don't want to allow them to cause more destruction than they have. We can end this now, once your troops arrive.”

And Claude holds out his hand again, meeting Dimitri's gaze, serious and strong.

“With the King of Fódlan at my side, we cannot fail.”

“I'm not king yet.”

Dimitri reminds him, his brow arched slightly. _Yet_ is important - Rodrigue is back in Fhirdiad planning the coronation should everything go according to plan here (it will, it has to). It also implies Dimitri's tacit agreement to this whole _King of all Fódlan_ business, despite his skepticism of it throughout Claude's plans. It will happen, he thinks, it's an inevitability at this point. He still doesn't know how to feel about it, but he's accepted it as best he can.

Maybe his victory in Fhirdiad had done more good for him than he thought.

That aside, it's good to know that they have time - enough time that it's likely he could have taken a slower pace. But they didn't know _when_ Nemesis (goddess, it seems insane to even say that name in this context) would attack or how quickly his forces would move through the countryside and Claude's letter made it seem as if he needed all the help he could get.

“...But I agree with your assessment. We'll ride out to meet them as soon as we’re able.”

With that, Dimitri regrettably takes a step back so that Judith and Nader can have their moments with Claude. They won't have much time at all for one another in the coming days, it's all that they can do to prepare for this battle, the final battle. Someday, someday, _someday_ they can be together with nothing urgently bearing down on both of their shoulders. Today is not that day.

Judith and Nader fill Claude in on the battle of Fhirdiad, and more importantly of where it's left their troops. Who is coming to reinforce them, when they'll be here, when all of their armies can move. It's all things he needs to know, and servants are sent to summon the other commanders, the nobles, everyone who needs to be a part of their sitting war council. Plans need to be made, logistics figured out. It takes far too long.

Dimitri watches Claude interact with his generals and tries to busy himself with something else while still remaining near him. He turns for Felix to briefly discuss their next move, only to find that he's already left at some point when he was talking with Claude. Alone then, he waits awkwardly for Judith and Nader to depart.

“I'll meet you in the council room,” Judith says, and she turns to leave - at the last moment swiveling back to catch hold of Nader's arm and drag him along. She snatches a quick, knowing look back at Dimitri, but before he can question it, she’s off.

“We should head there as well.” Claude looks at Dimitri, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Would you like to accompany me?”

“Of course.”

With that, they move together through the monastery again and it's good to see it now that he's calmed enough to take it in. The last time Dimitri was here, he was still chasing a ghost. At Enbarr he had laid it to rest and then - with Claude's hands on his face, Claude begging him - he'd stood again on his own legs and lifted his head up to see those living before him. He'd returned to the land of his birth and chased down his own demons and now he's returned to the monastery, where everything seems... brighter almost, more vibrant.

The future feels open to him. Sure, he's to be king, he will be bound to this land and to his duty, but he no longer feels chained to the shadows of his past. He can move forward, with Claude.

“When I took back Fhirdiad,” Dimitri murmurs, reminiscing, “the crowd was like it was in Enbarr. A celebration, despite everything I've done - despite the fact that I'd abandoned them.”

There's guilt, of course. There will always be guilt. But there's also determination in the face of it, rather than despair.

“You were right, you know.” He looks up toward Claude with a soft smile. “It doesn't matter if I deserve the crown, or their respect. All that matters is that I try to use it in a way that honors their dedication. You said - we make our own future. Now…”

There’s a pause, and he lets out a long breath, nodding. It feels right. It feels _good._

“...I think I can do that now.”

Claude watches him for a moment, and Dimitri is briefly embarrassed to see the pride in his eyes, but he knows that he’s come a long way. It would be foolish to pretend he hasn’t.

“I wish I'd been there.”

There's a wistfulness, a sense of regret when he says that. Claude was _supposed_ to be there, by Dimitri's side as he retook Fhirdiad, sharing in his victory and seeing his joy. It was necessary that Claude go to Shambhala, Dimitri can see that now, but still.

“They love you. Of course they love you.” Claude scoffs affectionately, and Dimitri can hear it, _I know because I love you_, in his laughter, “It doesn't matter that you left. What matters is that you came back, you fought for them, you freed them.”

Claude looks around, a quick survey of their surroundings. There's no one in the hallway for the moment, and so he pushes Dimitri through the nearest doorway - this was Hanneman's office once, now abandoned - and pulls the door shut behind them. Dimitri stumbles when he’s pushed, surprised, but not so shocked that he loses his footing.

“You deserve everything they want to give you. I know you don't believe that, but I do.” He raises a hand to touch Dimitri's cheek and Dimitri is helpless to tip his head into Claude’s warm fingers. “I want to see the future you'll make, Mitya.”

He'd expected to steal _some_ kind of moment with Claude on their way to the war council and better here than anywhere else, in a somewhat-secluded office. The door closing behind them both only makes him more certain of Claude's intentions, and while they can't - Enbarr had been a one-time thing and that was only due to the highs of battle - now, they just have a few minutes at most, enough to speak candidly, to talk, to touch, but nothing more.

“I want that.”

He promises, emboldened by Claude's belief in him, by Claude's touch on his skin. It's been so long since they've touched, so long since Claude has looked at him like that, and he reaches out and snags his hands around Claude's waist so he can pull him in closer, pressing them together with a quiet longing. It's the same longing he's felt every night since they parted, the same longing that makes him wonder how in the world the two of them will ever survive Claude leaving this country.

“I want -” It's a dangerous thing to want, but he knows what his heart sings for, he knows who he wants beside him and damn everyone else, damn anyone who may suggest that Claude doesn't deserve to be there. Dimitri's throat is dry, but he licks his lips and tries to say it anyway. “-I want you to be there. In that future.”

It's a lot to ask. It's more than he's ever asked of anyone, but he's been apart from Claude for only a few weeks and he's barely been able to handle it. When he speaks, it's in a rush because he wants very badly to kiss him but he also wants to talk to him, to make his loving promises and tell him everything he's been thinking of for the past few weeks.

“Whether it's you with me or me with you. I'll let - Sylvain can be king. He'd be a good one. Or you could…”

He'd never ask Claude to abandon his homeland - he doesn't want that for him, he knows that Claude has more to his life than just this land, his Alliance, Dimitri's heart, but he wants it with an intensity that he's never had before, and Claude is right here in his arms and the idea of letting him go breaks his heart.

Dimitri shakes his head, giving up on the idea quickly.

“...it doesn't matter how. I just want a future with you.”

Claude goes quiet at that, and this is clearly not the kind of words that he thought they’d be exchanging when he pushed Dimitri into this office. Dimitri would regret it, but it’s difficult to want to take his words back when they burn so close to the truth in his heart.

It isn’t that easy, he knows.

Either Dimitri walks away from Fódlan, after fighting his way back to stability, fighting for his homeland, bringing peace, killing Edelgard - or Claude walks away from Almyra, his own homeland, the land he hopes to change just as fiercely as he's fought for Fódlan. Either one of them could be happy that way, he thinks, because they love one another, because they want so badly to be together - but either way, one of them would be giving up something so deeply important to them.

They would be happy, but would it last? Wouldn't one of them always be thinking about what they'd left behind?

“I'm sure Sylvain would be a decent king,” Claude starts carefully, “but he wouldn't be you. You are their king - our king.”

Claude slides his arms around Dimitri's neck, holding on to him.

“No matter what may happen, my future is with you,” Claude continues, his brow furrowing in a sad frown. “I will... have to go, Dimitri. I will. But please trust that I'll come back, and that even when we're apart, I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Claude kisses him and it's everything that he's been waiting for, a culmination of every moment he's spent alone in his tent or in Fhirdiad, for everything that he's seen and wanted to show Claude, only to turn back and remember that he wasn't there. Dimitri makes the kiss deep, makes it last as long as he can until they both need to breathe and still, it's hard to part from him. Suffocation feels easier in that moment.

Claude’s promise flowers something warm and desperate in his chest and he immediately wants to promise the same in turn. Dimitri leans in, pressing his lips to Claude's forehead and pulling the other man into his chest, just to be with him, to be close, as close as they can be when they have to attend another council in a few minutes. He wants every second he can spare with Claude, before - before this next battle that could end everything, before Claude goes back to Almyra, before his heart breaks again.

He holds him close, tries to remember how to breathe.

“And I, yours.”

He promises and he knows it’s true. The two of them are shaped by the tragedy around them, broken in a way that leaves them clinging after one another, and Dimitri knows that no one else could ever understand. No one else would have looked through the prison bars and seen a king, no one else would have reached out a hand for him, no one else would have given him a road to his goal and then saved him again from the threat of insanity.

There will be pressure to marry. To take a queen, to pass on his crest. He's not naive - but this is a time of war and there will be some time yet until that becomes a demand placed on him. And even then... even then, he will refuse. There's no other option. Nobody could ever be to him what Claude is now.

“I love you,” Dimitri murmurs against Claude's hair, closing his eye and allowing himself to relax into him, just like this, “I'm glad you're safe.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Claude says, teasing just a bit, “my knight in shining armor - even if we aren't in mortal danger quite yet.”

Dimitri feels a little self conscious at that and glances away with a slight flush, shifting back on his heels.

“I- well, your letter wasn't clear on when the army would arrive. If I'd known…”

He'd wanted to see Claude again with a longing so fierce that it burned him, but all the same, Dimitri might have actually slept and been kinder to their horses if he'd known that he'd have days still. He'd liked the one that he had, running it ragged and then leaving it at a village was regrettable.

At the same time, seeing Claude again with some time to spare before the next battle isn't something that he can bring himself to feel guilty for, and although he feels foolish for rushing so quickly, he knows that it's far better to be foolish than to be wrong. If he'd taken his time and been too late, if Claude was dead by Nemesis' sword... Dimitri would never forgive himself.

So it's for the best, in the end, even if Claude teases him about it.

“No.” Claude presses himself against Dimitri, a little apologetic in the way he touches him, the shift of his smile. “We didn't know how fast they would advance. I'm glad you came. I'm - I didn't expect you so soon.”

He reaches up, pulling Dimitri down for another kiss, soft and sweet. Dimitri returns it, tipping his chin into it and nipping at Claude's lower lip when he pulls back, instinctive more than on purpose. It's hard to have him this close and to part again, but he knows that they don't have time to be wasting like this. Someday, maybe.

“We shouldn't linger.”

But they are, in fact, lingering.

“I'll come to you,” Dimitri promises, reaching to hook his fingers against Claude's belt, keeping him close for just a moment longer, “tonight.”

It's not a promise for anything, not with how exhausted he is and how late they'll both probably be working, but even this, even _lingering_, even just being near him is something that Dimitri wants - no, needs, like a drowning man needs air. Claude reminds him of how far he's come. Claude reminds him of what he's survived, what he _can_ survive. If he's going to do this, if he's going to pull this country out of crisis after crisis and win this war, if he's going to be crowned king, he's going to do it with Claude at his side. There is no other option.

“I'll wait for you.”

It's a promise, made in a quiet voice just for him. He knows they'll have a million things to take care of, they'll both be up long past sundown, but if Dimitri can visit Claude afterward - if they can sleep next to each other - it will all feel worth it. It'll feel like a reward, like something he's missed and wanted for so long.

_Weeks_ without one another. How could they possibly handle months, years?

“We should go before they miss us,” Claude murmurs, stepping back with some reluctance, “Come, my lion - let’s end this war.”

He says it with a smile, but it would be difficult to mistake _this_ for teasing. _My lion_, Claude says and Dimitri tries not to flush, but fails at holding back the little smile at the latest of Claude's affectionate nicknames. He doesn't want to leave and he knows that Claude doesn't either, but he also knows that they must, that their few moments here were a luxury that they shouldn't have even taken in the first place.

It's over now and Claude is moving away from him - Dimitri wants to reach after him, to tangle his fingers in his clothing and tug him closer but he holds back, straightening his shoulders and moving to smooth himself out a little when they duck back into the hallway.

It _is_ easier, he supposes, with the knowledge that Claude will be waiting for him tonight, that they can rest beside one another in his tiny Academy bed, curled up in one another to avoid falling onto the floor, his mouth pressed against Claude's shoulder, his arms around his waist... and just that mental image is enough to spur him onward, toward the war room, toward whatever unknown awaits them both.

Nemesis is coming. They'll need to have all of their focus and dedication for the upcoming battle and even then, it might not be enough. There's no time to want Claude closer, to wish for a few more stolen moments with him... now, it's time to prepare to stop the greatest threat that this country has faced.

Dimitri frowns, watching Claude's back as he moves into the council room behind him. If there's anyone who can pull them out of this mess, it's Claude. If there's anyone who can outwit a hero of legend, it's him. Dimitri just has to pray it'll be enough.

The war room is heated, arguments already flying between nobles as Claude and Dimitri enter. Some of them turn to them, and their surprise at seeing Dimitri at Claude’s back makes the room go silent as the rest of them look over to see their general and future king.

The group is fractious as ever, but Dimitri’s mere presence caused them to go still and silent. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to that.

Claude strides forward, setting his hands on the table.

“In a few days, we ride to face Nemesis,” he says, sparing a quick look back toward Dimitri. “I will ride at Dimitri’s side.”

Dimitri knows by now what Claude has planned for him - he knows that he is to be king, that all these people will look to him for leadership. He knows that he must take the mantle up and act the role. It isn't easy for him, he doesn't think that it will ever be easy, but he knows that it's necessary and so he moves like it, head held high as he strides forward into the spot at the head of the table that Claude would normally fill, a spot that Claude has intentionally left open for him. 

It... he doesn't know what to think about it. Dimitri would follow Claude in everything, but when following Claude also means leading him, he feels as if he is wearing some sort of face that doesn't quite fit him. But Claude's faith in him spurs him forward, makes him put one foot in front of the other, and stare down the various nobles at the table with a confidence that he only feels due to Claude's presence at his shoulder.

...goddess, how is he going to do this after Claude leaves?

“The Kingdom army will arrive at Garreg Mach in several days. They are already aware that they will be riding directly into battle, and so there's no need for them to rest and resupply. They will move straight through and we will all ride out together.”

Dimitri leans over the table, resting his hands at the edge of it and looking over the nobles seated. He recognizes most of them - some sitting, some who have stood to yell and make their point, who slowly ease back down into their chairs at Dimitri's casual display of power. He stares down each of them, evaluating where he might need to apply more pressure, where he can count on support from.

“The intent is to leave as soon as possible, with as many forces as possible. Riding out without our best armies is an insult to Nemesis' legacy, but we cannot afford to sit back in a stronghold while he lays waste to the countryside.”

Claude clears his throat delicately, before interjecting - “I will lead the Alliance forces at Dimitri's side.”

It's a subtle statement, at least in Alliance terms - Claude has been the general in all of their battles until now. He likely intends to be so here as well, taking command of all forces except Dimitri's personal vanguard, but Dimitri can see how Claude is weaving this tale, until it seems as if Claude is acting as Dimitri’s general when in fact Claude is the one giving commands.

"Prepare your men," Claude continues. "We will have some advance notice of the Kingdom troops approaching, and we need to be ready the moment they arrive. We can waste no time - this is a battle for Fódlan's future."

Dimitri nods and allows Claude to support him from his side. He knows well enough what Claude is doing and like the other nobles, he doesn't question it. Dimitri knows that it's his role to be king, that Claude will do everything he can to pass on that mantle to him without any outside objections and he knows that the best thing to do is simply to let it happen.

It doesn't rest as easy on his shoulders as he'd like it to. In here with the Alliance nobles, Dimitri feels again as if this is something _given_ to him without him having had earned it. He feels untested to these men, unproven, and not so far out from the feral beast he was that they'd be kind enough to forget about it. And yet here Claude is, weaving a delicate web to transfer all of this to him and he - he can't falter now, not with Claude at his back and Claude's plans riding on Dimitri falling into line.

An unkind way of thinking about it. Not untrue, but - unkind. Claude's reasons are good and Dimitri was born and raised for this kind of power, he is objectively the correct answer. It doesn't mean he has to be comfortable with it.

"We need to integrate our forces as quickly as possible. I'll have a battalion ride out to meet my men and instruct them of the proper formation to take when passing through, so that our armies can merge without delay." 

It's easier to focus on the present, on the monumental task that needs to be done. After all, Dimitri will only be king if they can survive this next battle.

"With Galatea bending the knee once more, we have a fleet of pegasi who will arrive first. All steeds should be prepared and made available for any necessary potential switches. The Gautier cavalry should be shortly behind them, but they're more used to Garreg Mach and will know where to go."

He nods, glancing over the various maps on the table.

" ...I don't suppose the villages in Nemesis' path can be evacuated."

"The ones closer to us can be," Claude assures, "but my hope is that we'll stop Nemesis' advance before it's necessary. The ones further -" Claude's mouth thins. The casualties of war. "A couple of my scouts have not come back after getting too near Nemesis' forces. Their warriors are strong, too strong for us to safely face without all of our strength. As much as it may hurt, I think we must accept that some of those villages will be lost."

Claude pauses in his debriefing, his brow furrowed as he watches Dimitri. When he speaks again, his voice is low, careful. 

"I'll send word that if they can flee, they should, and we will shelter them should they make it to the monastery. But we can't afford to send troops to assist them." 

It pains Dimitri to hear that. At one point in his life, he would have deemed the loss as unacceptable, would have raged against Claude's careful logic and reason and gone after them anyway. He remembers the frustration in his youth, the memories of the flames of the Tragedy and how his mind would just…_ give _and he'd be lost, sunken deep within himself, coming to hours later covered in blood and shaking like a leaf.

He could not bear to think about losses back then. He could not face down those responsible without losing pieces of himself, giving way to madness. It's difficult to do so now, and his hands clench into fists at the table as he steadies himself. He thinks about Edelgard dead, thinks about Claude's hands in his hair, and takes a deep breath.

"...Nemesis will answer for their deaths," he finally says, his voice dark but still present. Still here. "We will ensure that the lives lost in the coming days are not in vain." 

Even though they can do nothing to save them. In a way, it's reminiscent of everything else that Dimitri has suffered, the way he must endure these tragedies and use them to push through and seek vengeance. But now he thinks he's strong enough to weather it - to lead, rather than to be mindless with his desire for retribution.

Claude has taught him that, among other things.

"You have your orders." Claude says to the nobles and the commanders, who indeed know what they are meant to do. Most of Claude's forces are ready, merely waiting for Dimitri's reinforcements to arrive before beginning their march. Some will ride out to meet them with supplies and orders, others will track the movement of Nemesis' forces.

"Please bring any new concerns about logistics to me, while anything regarding Nemesis' movements should be provided to both Dimitri and I." 

Dimitri looks over but says nothing at Claude willingly taking on most of the drudgery of this organization. While he may have wanted to share the work, there's still much to be done from him as well: troops to organize, an army to communicate with, plans to make... and, eventually, at some point, he _must_ sleep.

“Now go,” Claude commands, “let us end this as quickly and completely as we can.” 

Claude’s eyes flicker to Dimitri and he straightens up as the rest of the men and women file out of the room. Dimitri can feel his shoulders sag with the weight of it once they’re gone, the sleepless nights behind him and all the work ahead.

Dimitri looks back over the war maps, tracing his fingers along the path that Nemesis is taking to meet them.

“...do you think it’ll be enough?” he asks when they're alone again. He trusts Claude’s opinion more than anything - Claude with his spies, his tactical sense, his love of the folklore behind Fódlan’s past. If anyone could give him a sensible answer, it would be Claude - and now, with all of the others gone, he trusts that Claude will be honest.

He’ll fight and die if Claude says that there is no hope, but he wants to know the odds going in.

Claude purses his lips, considering it, knowing that Dimitri’s faith in him requires his precision and truthfulness.

"It will have to be." His thoughtful expression gives way to a smile, bright and determined. "We've come this far. We won't fall now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter count has been updated again! Barring any significant changes, we are expecting this monstrosity to go for about 8 more chapters after this one. Thank you all so much for sticking with us!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle is here, as Nemesis' forces threaten to destroy the peace Dimitri and Claude have fought so hard for.

Though they prepared extensively, though they sent scouts and rallied their forces and were as ready as they could possibly be, Claude knows the moment he sees the battlefield that they could not be ready for this.

He assesses things as quickly as he can. Though the enemies are not yet advancing toward them, it's impossible to know if they will suddenly decide to, and it's even more impossible to know what kind of tricks they might have up their sleeves. But this trick - the very first one - is more than enough.

They can't be real. He reassures himself with that. Though he's learned much about the Relics, about Nemesis, and about the Elite, Claude still wishes he could learn more. Rhea shared many of the things she had kept hidden but there will always be more, secrets he can't uncover, legends he'll never know the truth of. And when he sees the enemy arrayed on the field - Goddess, he wishes he could simply _talk_ to one of them, if they were the true Elites. Find out the truth from their perspective, the motivations behind the horrors, the reality that the legends sprang from.

But instead, it seems as if they will have to literally kill history - or be killed by it.

Ah well. This is how they start fresh. This is how they wash Fódlan clean, how they create a new dawn and start building something they can all be proud of.

There will still be bodies in the foundation, of course, blood staining their hands. But regardless, it must be done.

“We won't be able to face Nemesis without taking down his commanders,” he calls to his own commanders, and how odd it is, the symmetry. Riegan. Blaiddyd. Goneril. Fraldarius, Gloucester, Gautier. More. Every one of them facing an ancestor, a legend. It would be poetic, if they were the real ones.

He supposes it's rather poetic anyway, or will be if they all survive.

“You know your own capabilities, and I trust your judgment. Bring them down. Let's end this.”

It's the best rallying cry he can give in this moment. Claude urges Hyacinth aloft, the wyvern's gleaming white scales in the sky serving as well as a trumpet would. _Attack._

His eyes travel over his troops, surging forward, and without any conscious effort he looks to Dimitri. Claude knows that Dimitri no longer needs Claude to watch his back, if he ever did - he has his own forces now, his own men and women, loyal to him until their last breath. But still there is a part of Claude that remains with him. His heart, perhaps.

\--

The horses paw tentatively at the marsh around him while their armies survey one another. Dimitri doesn't recognize them, not at first, he simply tries to get an idea of how many there are, what positions they're taking, how he can move out to counteract their formations - but somehow, a pinprick of awareness trickles into the back of his mind and his eyes lock on the cavalry general up front and he knows, he _knows_ that he's staring into the helm of his ancestor.

It makes Dimitri falter for half a moment, and he wants to... talk to him, maybe? Ask him questions? He's not a history buff like Claude but that doesn't mean he'd be willing to give up this opportunity... but instead, the pegasi and wyverns take flight and the man, his ancient direct relative, picks up a spear and moves toward them across the swamplands.

The others move too. Dimitri looks to his left and right, where Felix and Dedue are stationed and he can tell that Felix feels it too, even if Dedue doesn't quite get it yet. Claude takes flight, as does Ingrid, and Dimitri's hand tightens on the hilt of his lance.

“That's - that man…” It's Sylvain who says something first, and Dimitri follows his gaze to a Great Knight just behind the main charge. Felix is busy, transfixed by a female falcoknight, and this is all wrong, they can't - how can they possibly win against the Elites? Against these legends, the dragonslayers of old?

Dimitri's eye catches Claude again, a shining silver beacon in the sky, and he holds his ground. For Fodlan, they have to win. For Claude's vision, they have to win. For his own vision, one that has come to him with a startling clarity from the moment he saw the men and women cheering for him in Enbarr, in Fhirdiad. For Claude and - and for himself, he knows that they have no choice but to win.

“It doesn't matter who they are,” Dimitri says, twirling his lance behind him and holding it, prepared, ready to run into combat, “what matters is that we will defeat them.”

And then he issues his orders, quick and precise.

“Felix, Dedue, stay with me. Sylvain, Ashe, take the cavalry with Lorenz to the right. Mercedes, the rear center. Annette - move with Raphael.”

They nod and there's nothing else to do but move forward, take up their positions, and fight.

Dimitri can't afford to watch Claude work, though he sends Ingrid up to assist him however he might need it. He has to trust him and trust his allies in this battle because the fight will take all of his focus. It's Hilda's and Leonie's job to ensure Claude's survival, and in the air he can't issue orders as effectively which makes it Dimitri's job to hold their line and push through on the ground.

The two armies crash into one another and Dimitri holds, shoving his spear through the throat of an opponent and whirling to the next one and the next. He fights without the sort of crazed desperation he used to, more precise, relying less on his brute strength and speed and more on his training, his lifetime of combat education, and his allies to either side.

Water splashes around him as he's forced into the marsh and Dimitri can't pay it much attention because there's an arrow coming for him, then a fireball, then a sword strike. Felix is breathing hard at his side, and as Dimitri crashes his weapon into another skull he can feel the crackle of magic around him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on its end as Felix summons his energies and shoots a Thoron into the sky with the sharp crack sound of a whip being snapped. His aim is true and it hits the falcoknight above them, who spirals downward but isn't lost entirely.

She manages to recover a short distance from the ground and Dimitri is distracted by another footsoldier, and then another. His world becomes blood and steel and magic thrumming around them, Mercedes doing her best to heal them all at range when they take injuries, but it's hard to tell who is winning yet: a member of Dimitri's battalion is cut down, and then one of Dedue's. A faraway mage - from the bridge? - recites an incantation low under his breath and the sky opens up above them, sending a thick bolt of lightning to crash down into the ground around him, throwing Dimitri and Felix off their feet.

The wind is knocked out of him. Dimitri blinks and stares up to the sky and he has to get up, but this fight seems unending. Felix fires another spell toward the offending mage, but he's too far away for it to hit reliably, and Dedue reaches for him to roughly pull him up.

It's chaos. Everything around them is just chaos, with the water, the mud caking to their boots, the blood spraying in the air, the flash of steel - Dimitri has often found himself at home in the throes of battle, but this is more evenly matched than any fight he's had to take before.

“Cavalry,” Dimitri calls out, alerting Ashe and Lorenz and the rest of them, “the other mages-”

Is it Gloucester? It's hard to tell at this range, but Ashe nods and rounds up Sylvain and the rest of them. They can't have enemy mages raining down magic at them from too far of a range, they need to take some of the heat off of the main forces so that they can push in without being bombarded on all sides. The horsemen take off, riding for the threat, and Dimitri sees Ashe ready his longbow and turns back to the main fight.

He still sees Blaiddyd at a distance, circling, leading his army much like Dimitri is leading his own. And beyond him, Nemesis, the mountain of a man from legend, his jagged sword whipping around him like a chain. Savage. Untouchable.

If they're to win this war, they'll need to bring him down somehow. Just from watching him for a few seconds, Dimitri doesn't even know if such a thing is truly possible.

\--

Surveying the battlefield, Claude knows he'll need to trust this to his commanders. That was always true - he can tell everyone the plans beforehand, but it's impossible to be everywhere, to make sure everyone is moving as needed, to help people change their plans on the fly. It's even more true now, when what they're facing are enemies from legends, when even Claude can't be sure of what to expect.

He readies his bow, but before he can choose a target, he sees the way the horses flinch from the marsh. He should have noticed it immediately, but distracted by the Elites he's been lax until now. It's - wrong, twisted, unhealthy. They can't fight in that, not without putting their mounts and themselves at risk. They can, perhaps, manage using only the land that's clearly safe, but Claude knows this can't be natural.

And unless they somehow poisoned all of this land before the battle started - unlikely, since the enemy couldn't be sure they'd engage here - it must be magical.

It's an easy enough equation, and from his wyvern's height above the battlefield Claude sees one of the Elites, a gremory, to the side of the chaos, hands raised. Lamine? He doesn't really have time to be certain. Whoever they are, they're the source of this, and that's something that will need to be dealt with.

“Leonie, on me! Marianne, Hilda, watch our backs,” he calls down, and Leonie rises on her pegasus to back him up. They can cross the battlefield more quickly and safely than anyone. He points out the gremory, and Leonie nods, and then he urges Hyacinth on.

Perhaps it would be more poetic for him to face the shade of Riegan, surely drawing its bow somewhere on the battlefield. But this is what needs to be done, and Claude has always been the person who does what needs to be done.

He and Leonie make their way to their target in relative ease. On the ground, Marianne and Hilda can't keep pace, but their presence itself distracts most of those who would target Claude instead. Leonie flies at the rest, lance ready and anger in her eyes, clearing Claude's path for him with brutal efficiency. Hyacinth wheels in the air, Claude nocks an arrow and takes aim. Their straight-on charge was dangerous, yes, but the suddenness of it works in his favor - his first arrow takes the Elite in the neck, ending whatever twisted parody of life it had.

And as Lamine falls, the marsh dries up. Hyacinth wheels, barely dodging an onslaught of arrows, and Claude turns back to the rest of the battlefield. The fighting has begun in earnest, and now their approach should be less dangerous - and Claude is in good position to choose his next target. He takes a moment, only a moment, to see where he might be most needed.

The battle, as all battles do, has descended into something like chaos. Claude can make all the plans he likes, concoct a new scheme for each engagement, but he knows well that as soon as the true fighting begins all it comes down to is one thing: survival. He flies above it with Leonie, Ingrid's pegasus adding to their numbers - but in a battle like this, _above it_ means nothing.

Arrows fill the skies, and it's a combination of luck and skilled flying that keeps them safe. Claude answers with his own, felling archers with practiced skill, keeping his calm in order to line up shots. Leonie and Ingrid dart through the skies, flying in to lay enemies low with their lances and then retreating from range before they can be pulled out of the air.

It sounds easier than it is. They certainly do not lack in danger. An arrow scores Hyacinth's scales, leaving a long glittering line of blood in its wake. A quickly-thrown axe nearly takes Leonie's head, and in her attempt to dodge she comes close to falling from her pegasus completely. Ingrid swoops in to deal the finishing blow, giving Leonie enough time to regain her seat, but Claude can see that she's shaken.

There's nothing they can do but fight on. On the ground he sees Hilda carving a swathe through their enemies until she's stopped short by the cry of a beast. The mere presence of the creature thickens the fighting, as Hilda's allies throw themselves in her direction - Lysithea's dark magic laying waste to the mounted troops attacking her. Claude has to trust that Hilda will manage, that they all will.

His target needs to be Nemesis, but he's too strong. They can't even approach him, not protected as he is by the Elites, and -

Claude's eyes are on Nemesis at just the right moment. One of Dimitri's men - Sylvain, he thinks? - cuts through one of the Elites, and as the revenant falls, for one brief moment Nemesis falters. Claude isn't sure he's seen it truly, through the haze of the battle, but sometimes in war one must gamble.

Before, he'd thought that they needed to take down Nemesis' commanders merely to clear their way to their final goal. Now - if their existence is somehow strengthening Nemesis, if the dark magic that animates them is giving him power, then it's more than that. Claude doesn't have time to be certain of this, but he supposes they'll find out soon enough.

“Ingrid!” He calls to her over the violence and noise of the battle. “Tell Dimitri - the commanders. Each death weakens Nemesis. Throw your strength into bringing them down, and I'll be in position to strike the final blow.”

The sooner they end this, the better. Claude knows he can get to Nemesis quickly if needed - he also knows that right now he stands no chance if he does. But if Nemesis is weakened, if he can be distracted, if Claude can pick the right moment... he can end all of this.

“Leonie! Tell Lorenz!”

It'll leave him without backup, but Claude trusts his own skills. He'll survive. He needs his commanders focused on this strategy.

\--

Dimitri slashes down at someone else, barely dodging a sword strike only for Dedue to crash into the enemy, crushing their skull with the force of his axe. Dimitri puts his back to Dedue’s as they march deeper into the bog and the water slows them down, sucks at their shoes, but at least it's not poisonous anymore. They move forward as a unit, him and Dedue and Felix and their battalions and Ingrid lands nearby on a hard patch of dirt, her lance held firmly in hand.

“We have to kill the Elites,” she yells at him through the battle and Dimitri's brows furrow but he nods, “to weaken Nemesis! Claude says that's how to beat him!”

At the mention of Claude, Dimitri can't help but glance upward and see the man above them. Of course he'd come up with some sort of plan, of course he'd notice that Nemesis was somehow strengthened by his allies. This is going to be even harder than they thought, but he has no choice - none of them do.

He tenses up to charge into battle again, but he's brought out of his focus by another voice calling out near him - Annette?

“The wyvern is one!” she screams from over the carnage, having heard Ingrid, trying to help. “I can't reach them, but -”

She points high in the sky and Dimitri follows her gaze to a dark looking wyvern lord with a glowing hammer in their hands, reminiscent of the Crusher that Annette herself carries. They're far too high off the ground for him to hit and he doubts that even Ashe could strike something that far away. None of them can summon lightning like that Gloucester mage could and so he turns back to Ingrid, quickly making his decision.

“Tell Claude! We're going to handle -” Dedue knocks him out of the way, slamming Dimitri hard into the ground as a Lance of Ruin impacts heavily against the knight's shield, staggering him, splitting the steel, but leaving them both unscathed. Dimitri grits his teeth as he hits the dirt again and moves to stand. “Go!”

Ingrid looks conflicted. She wants to help, but she won't disobey her king and so she eventually takes flight once more to tell Claude.

Meanwhile, Dimitri pushes himself back up, rounds on Gautier, and squares his shoulders, surveying the rest of the fight. Lamine and Gloucester are dead, Fraldarius is injured, Claude is on Dominic... how many does that leave? The Areadbhar glows in his hand as he brings it up to parry the horseman's next blow, the heavily armored knight nearly losing his balance as his infernal horse skids in the mud.

The corner of Dimitri's mouth turns up in a smirk at that. While the bog may be hard on them, it's even worse on the horses and he can use that to his advantage. Felix can sense it too and he's quick as he moves to dispatch the dark Gautier's guard with Dedue's help, while the great knight struggles to position himself for another charge. Dimitri tenses, waits, and utilizes his quicker movement to duck under the lance swing, thrusting his own lance upward and impaling the general where he sits, the horse moving on, riderless, while the man sinks down onto Dimitri's spear.

“One more down.”

Gautier falls and disappears beneath the watery mud and Dimitri turns to survey the others, see how they're doing.

“Fraldarius next - she's already injured.”

It can't go on forever. Dimitri fights his way further into the center of the marsh with his allies at his side, but they're not invulnerable. Felix dances around arrows and fireballs and sword swings as much as he can, but Riegan aims a careful shot and it rings true, the arrow flying faster than a projectile from any bow Dimitri has ever seen. Felix makes a sound like he's had the wind knocked out of him and staggers back, red blooming from the injury to his side.

Dimitri looks up toward Fraldarius, still flying on a lame-winged pegasus, and back down to Felix, splashing water up in the swamp as he goes down to one knee, his hand gripping shakily at the shaft of the arrow embedded between his ribs. The world seems to go still.

“Damnit…” Felix curses softly and Dimitri makes his decision, crashing down next to his childhood friend while Dedue wordlessly tries to cover for them both, utilizing his large cracked shield and at times even his own armored body to keep all dangers away from the two of them.

Ordinarily, they would want to keep the arrow in, to keep the blood and viscera on the inside, but Dimitri can see Mercedes running toward them, the hem of her elegant dress in tatters as she drags it through the bog to try and get close enough and he knows that healing won't work if there's still a foreign object inside. It's with this knowledge that he wraps Felix's arm around his own shoulder and looks him in the eye. His conviction has to be unwavering, Felix has to trust him - he won't lose him like he lost Glenn.

Above them both, Dedue's arm is slashed through and blood splatters into the already-reddened water. They're running out of time.

“Let go,” Dimitri commands in a tone that feels much more authoritative than the scared child he feels like and Felix obeys, letting his hand drop from the arrow. Dimitri wraps his fingers around it in turn, watches Mercedes as she moves closer, closer - her hands start to glow with the familiar thrum of energy and Dimitri grits his teeth, yanking the arrow from Felix's side in one jerky motion. It's embedded deeper in him than he thought, and he has to pull again to get the rest of it out - at least five inches and Felix lets out the most fragile sound and begins to seize with pain, blood staining at his lips.

As soon as it's extracted, the wound starts to knit itself closed, lacing together with green and blue light and Felix tenses, coughing at the blood in his lungs, wincing at the pain but decidedly alive and seemingly not quite drowning in his own blood or struggling with a collapsed lung.

His battalion is gone - dead or dismissed. All that surrounds them now are corpses and shadows of ancient legends. Dimitri looks up and finds Claude in the sky, still leading. He must do the same.

“Take him,” he tells Dedue, sliding his hands under Felix's legs and lifting him to stand, ignoring the hissed protests. “Be careful.”

And with that, Dimitri hands Felix off to Dedue, who dutifully moves to carry him back to the ally lines while Mercedes continues to heal the both of them, covering their retreat with blasts of her own magic, a truly fearsome spectacle on the battlefield. It leaves Dimitri alone for now, and he rises from the marsh, taking his lance in hand as he turns and hones in on the elites left standing.

In the commotion, Ashe has managed to bring down the falcoknight, though he isn't in a position to back Dimitri up entirely with the way the marsh slows down his horse. Sylvain doesn't seem to care about that and dismounts, rushing down to offer his king some kind of support as Dimitri finds himself alone in the center of battle squaring down Blaiddyd and Riegan both.

\--

Claude expects Ingrid to stay with Dimitri, fight by his side, so when she returns to him he can't help but spare a glance for Dimitri - to make sure he's all right. For all that he knows Dimitri is a fierce warrior, for all that he can't afford to be worrying about his lover in the midst of all of this, he still looks. And of course Dimitri is there, fighting, defeating his legendary opponent, and Claude is - relieved.

Ingrid shouts a warning to him, points to the dark figure on the wyvern. One of the Elites, Claude knows - Dominic? That seems correct.

He has his part to play in this battle as well.

“I'll take care of it!” he calls, and urges Hyacinth toward the wyvern lord. Another wyvern rider dives toward them, and Ingrid breaks off to engage him, lance ready and eyes full of fire.

Claude would prefer not to get in range of that weapon. He shoots arrow after arrow, but though Failnaught aims truly, Dominic's skill is too great. The wyvern takes an arrow in its leg, another is barely dodged, and a third scores Dominic's arm, but he flies evasively, keeping any of them from landing a true hit. Claude doesn't have time for another volley - Dominic flies directly at him, axe raised.

Their wyverns grapple in the air, powerful jaws snapping at each other, claws tearing. Claude and his opponent begin to plummet to the ground, and Claude ducks in his saddle, barely avoiding the swing of that weapon that looks so much like Annette's. His concentration is fixed. He has no time to worry about the ground beneath them, approaching rapidly as the wyverns focus on killing each other rather than flying.

Hyacinth twists beneath him, but keeping his seat is second nature. In a moment, in one smooth movement, he hooks his bow to his saddle and pulls hard on the handle of his axe, fastened to another of the saddle's straps, still untouched so far. Dominic swings again. Claude allows the axe to brush past him and hooks the shaft with the curved blade of his own axe.

Dominic is larger than him, and armored more fully, but all that means in this moment is that he can't maneuver as easily. Claude nearly throws himself from his own saddle, using the momentum of his body in the same direction as the swing of the axe that nearly hit him. Claude's intent was to disarm Dominic, but he gets more than he bargained for. His dangerous trick unseats the man entirely, armored fingers missing his grip on the wyvern's saddle.

Dominic plummets to the ground along with his axe. Hyacinth screeches, burying his teeth in the other wyvern's throat, and Claude barely manages to keep hold of his own saddle. He's mostly out of his seat when Hyacinth breaks away, letting the enemy wyvern fall to the ground beside its master. Hyacinth's flying is labored, his sides scored with claw marks, but he steadies enough for Claude to climb back into his saddle, bruised and breathing hard.

And Claude, never one to leave things to chance if he can avoid it, unhooks Failnaught and drives two arrows into Dominic's helmet's open visor. The Elite was likely already dead, but now they can be certain.

Claude's axe is gone now, too, so hopefully he won't need to do much more close-quarters fighting. He looks around to get his bearing, just in time to see Hilda fall beneath the teeth of a demonic beast. He raises his bow, but it's too far - but Marianne is there, the gold light of her healing fading only to be replaced by darkness. Nosferatu's dark cloud surrounds the beast, dragging the lifeforce from its body, and it sinks to the ground.

He doesn't have time to worry. Beyond the carcass of the beast stands a figure in robes, raising their hands as they summon a second beast. Claude looks quickly to see who is near, who can help him this time.

“Lorenz! On me!”

Dark magic crackles through the air, barely missing Claude as he and his wyvern hurtle through the skies towards the dark bishop who has been calling the beasts. On the ground, Lorenz urges his mount forward too, fighting through the marsh at Claude's behest. The air seems to curdle, and then another beast is there, screeching its fury.

Claude curses under his breath. A dark bishop and a demonic beast is a bit much even for the two of them - surely only one was enough of an opponent? But it seems that nothing about this battle is fated to be easy.

He can't stop for a moment. Claude knows from experience that if he does, the weariness will press it. He'll begin to feel the muscle strain, he'll suddenly realize he's taken a dozen small injuries that he hasn't even noticed thanks to the adrenaline coursing through him. He readies another arrow, aiming at the dark bishop, but his aim is disrupted by the beast pushing itself into the sky, straight at him. Again he has to evade, Hyacinth snapping at the creature, Claude changing targets to send an arrow into its foreleg. It isn't enough.

Lorenz, on the ground, is charging at the bishop, letting the dark magic glance past him. Claude can't be distracted by the battle on the ground, not if he wants to live - but of course, a giant flying beast and a dark magic-wielding warrior attract attention. And, it seems, their forces are turning the tide, because the attention it attracts belongs to Claude's allies.

An arrow arcs up from the ground, straight and true, burying itself in the demonic beast's neck. It screeches, anger pulled away from Claude and to its new enemy - Ignatz, on the ground, bow raised. Hyacinth lashes out, raking his claws down the side of the beast, and Claude readies Failnaught again. That dark bishop is the most important target, and if he can strike while the beast is distracted -

But on the ground, he sees Lorenz spear the bishop through the chest, though dark magic surrounds him, sapping his strength. His opponent slumps to the ground, strange lifeforce fading. Lorenz falls alongside him, and for a moment Claude fears for his friend. But though Lorenz's horse does not rise again, he struggles up from the ground, standing tall and raising his lance again, though even from this distance Claude can see he barely has the strength to do so.

Then Raphael is there, pressing one big hand against Lorenz's chest, pushing him back from the battlefield. That's all Claude sees before he wheels his wyvern again, firing the arrow he had readied for the defeated summoner. Ignatz's arrows have been flying true as well, one buried deeply in the beast's eye, and Claude sees its wingbeats falter. He fires again, and again, and then it's falling, pincushioned with arrows and finally devoid of life.

Claude spirals Hyacinth down, landing beside Raphael and Lorenz.

“Lorenz, fall back - back to the healers.”

The last he saw of Marianne, she was struggling to keep Hilda alive. She won't be able to spare time for Lorenz - and he clearly cannot continue to battle. Lorenz begins a protest, but Claude, usually willing to entertain his arguments, cuts him off with a swift shake of his head.

“Raphael, Ignatz, and I can manage this. Fall back.”

There are enemies around still, those who had been supporting the one summoning beasts, but without their leader they should be easy pickings. Lorenz's lips thin with frustration, but he does as ordered. Raphael speaks then, his brows drawn down.

“Ignatz and me, we've got it,” he says, and points, “you'd better get over there.”

And Claude looks, and sees Dimitri and Sylvain facing down two Elites on their own, and - well, he would put his money on them, of course, because he has nothing but faith in Dimitri's strength. But the sight still chills him. He catches hold of the strap of Hyacinth's saddle, and the wyvern keens as Claude throws himself aboard, and then they're in the air again.

These Elites have learned from the others' mistakes - they keep their horses on dry and hard ground, not needing to advance into the marsh due to Riegan's bow. He could simply snipe Dimitri and Sylvain if they stayed to try and lure him into the swampland. It puts them in the unfortunate role of needing to approach from a bad angle, and as Riegan readies another arrow in that lethal bow, Claude can see Dimitri tense.

Neither of them have shields and their movement is limited as they make their way out of the swamp. Sylvain seems to realize this too and magic crackles in the air as he shoots a fireball toward Riegan before he can loose his arrow. Claude takes his chance in that moment as well - he readies an arrow, and fires it even when he knows he's too far to hit, meaning it as a distraction, to provide an opening for the men on the ground. The paired attack makes the Elite drop his bow and urge his horse to dodge.

It gives them an opening. Not much of one, but enough, and Dimitri raises his short spear and throws it as soon as he's able to further prevent their opponents from taking advantage of their approach. Blaiddyd deflects the weapon easily, but it buys them enough time for Dimitri to get his boots back on solid ground.

Riegan falls behind Blaiddyd, drawing his bow again and Dimitri stands his ground, Sylvain right behind him. Claude wheels above, pulling another arrow free from his quiver, barely close enough to hear them over the roar of battle.

“Those arrows…” Dimitri says, shaking his head. “That thing has some form of Claude's bow. Those arrows will likely pierce your armor.”

Sylvain doesn't seem to take this warning well and nods, his teeth grit as his hands tighten on the Lance of Ruin. “What should we do?”

To which Dimitri can only shrug.

“Don't get hit.”

Blaiddyd begins his charge. Dimitri holds his ground. Sylvain prepares another wave of magic to distract the archer with and the two lances - Areadbhar and the dark and twisted copy of it - crash together on the first pass. Dimitri grunts, Claude sees his crest activate to push through and try to impale his ancestor... except it doesn't happen. Blaiddyd matches his inhuman strength pound for pound and Dimitri’s feet slide back against the grass.

Claude feels a shiver down his spine at the sight. No one has ever met Dimitri’s strength before, as far as he knows. No one has pushed back at him like this.

The lances finally get knocked aside and if they were any other material then they likely would have shattered where they collided. Blaiddyd rounds his horse for another pass.

Claude urges Hyacinth closer, but the wyvern is rightfully wary. One well-aimed arrow from that bow could bring him down, and he's already injured and weary - not in a good state to be dodging arrows. But Claude can't stand down, he can't leave Dimitri and Sylvain to face this fight alone.

This is especially knowing now that Blaiddyd can stand against Dimitri's strength. It shouldn't be a surprise, really - don't they have the same crest? - and yet somehow it is.

“Come on,” he calls to Hyacinth, “we can't let them do this alone.”

The wyvern cries out, but flies toward them, wheeling through the air. Riegan is, for the moment, focused on Sylvain - an opportunity Claude can't pass up. He draws his bow, waiting for the right moment, waiting for Sylvain's next attack. The moment he sees that magic flicker through the air, he looses his arrow.

It streaks through the air and hits - not quite where Claude would have preferred, in the eye or the throat, but solidly in Riegan's shoulder. It means that the quickly-drawn and loosed arrow in response is not well-aimed, thankfully, and Hyacinth manages to dodge it.

Sylvain presses his attack while he has an opening, and Claude steers Hyacinth higher, making a tight circle above the battle below. He draws his bow again, this time sending an arrow at Blaiddyd, who manages to knock it aside with his lance.

Claude is unable to fully engage, needing to keep moving constantly to avoid the chance of being felled by an arrow. But though he may not be able to finish any kills, he can rain arrows down from above. He can keep the Elites on their toes and create openings for Dimitri and Sylvain, turn the tide in their favor. Right now, that's the best possible place he can be.

His arrows seem plenty helpful. Dimitri is able to press in while Blaiddyd works on deflecting them, his lance moving for his counterpart and scoring a hit into his side that Blaiddyd clutches at. 

But of course, they're not alone on the field. Claude has to veer away, has to ignore the battle for long enough to put arrows in the hearts of the foot soldiers attempting to interfere. He doesn't allow anyone to get close - this much, he can do. Act as a distraction and a danger to Blaiddyd and Riegan, and keep anyone else from distracting Sylvain and Dimitri. He'll have to trust to their strength, trust that they can finish this fight.

And he does. He'd gamble on Dimitri any day - it hasn't failed him yet.

Blaiddyd backs up his horse, seemingly emotionless under his visor, and Sylvain yells out in warning, shooting fire toward Riegan as he fires his bow again toward Claude.

The fire is enough to keep him occupied, prevent his aim from being true, and the arrow slides past Claude - but they walk on precarious ground. This has to end sooner rather than later, because the longer they drag this out, the more likely it is that one of them is going to fall.

Sylvain readies his lance again, striding toward Riegan as the bow knight takes aim again, clearly frustrated at being thrown off so often. With no other choice but to watch Sylvain be skewered by the resulting arrow, Dimitri turns and picks his short spear off of the ground, ignoring Blaiddyd for a moment as he hefts it in his hand and throws it with all his might toward the archer.

It sails through the air and strikes true, scoring deep into Riegan's side and he falters while Sylvain finishes closing the gap and impales him with the Lance of Ruin, knocking him cleanly from his horse and back onto the ground where he won't be getting back up again.

Which leaves...

Taking advantage of his distraction, Blaiddyd lashes out, the dark relic slashing out for his opponent. Dimitri hastily blocks, bringing his gauntlet up to knock it out of the way and slams into the shaft of the lance with his forearm. The impact of the shoddily-blocked attack knocks him off his feet and under the horse's hooves, lance fallen to one side, Blaiddyd’s own weapon heading straight for his throat, and Sylvain too far away to help.

There isn't time. Claude sees it happen, but it feels like there's nothing he can do - he's not at a good angle, in the time it takes him to line up a shot Dimitri will be dead. His heart seizes, his mind goes blank.

Losing Dimitri has always been a possibility. Since the very beginning, when he would have thrown himself at Edelgard's soldiers until they cut him down. And even later, even now - though Claude thinks Dimitri has found balance, that he would no longer throw his own life away so easily, they're still in a war. Try as you might to survive, war can cut you down anyway. A stray arrow, a lucky sword strike, or just someone with superior skill and strength.

Losing Dimitri has always been a possibility, but it's not one that Claude can accept.

He doesn't think - or rather, he does, one split-second decision. His bow is useless in this moment. There's only one thing he can do.

And so they wheel on the warriors, and a moment before Blaiddyd's lance can strike Dimitri down, Claude barrels into him with all the force of an angry wyvern, teeth and claws and furiously flapping wings. Claude throws himself from the saddle, hitting the ground hard and rolling, and Hyacinth screeches as he bowls horse and rider over, momentum sending him past them, skidding along the ground and ending in a heap of wounded but still vicious wyvern.

Claude picks himself up, and now he can line up a shot, now that Blaiddyd has been thrown from his horse, stunned on the ground. Stunned, but not dead, and so Claude draws and looses, twice in quick succession, sending one arrow through the creature's shoulder and another into his chest, punching through that armor with Failnaught's strength.

“Sylvain! Make sure he's dead.”

Because Blaiddyd is too strong, because they need to be sure, and because Claude can't - because he's running to Dimitri's side, limping a bit from how he hit the ground but still moving. They aren't done yet. Nemesis still stands, and he and Dimitri are the closest, and they need to end this - but Dimitri is there on the ground and Claude _knows_ he wasn't too late, but still -

“Dimitri!” He throws himself to his knees next to Dimitri, Failnaught in one hand, the other already reaching out.

Dimitri, stunned and in the dirt, blinks, looks up and reaches his good arm toward Claude, catching his hand and pulling him... well, they can't embrace, not like this with Dimitri carrying a lame arm and both of them still in full armor and sitting on the ground, but he moves Claude closer with a low rumble in his throat.

“Thank you.”

The battle never ends though, because Nemesis is there, his shoulders drawn up in rage as he watches his generals fall one by one. Claude sees Dimitri test his arm, sees him wince, but there’s no time to think about their wounds. If he can keep it straight, he can use that hand.

And he'll need to because his lance is not easily wielded one-handed. And there is still Nemesis.

“Arm's broken,” Dimitri mutters, moving to stand, to reach for the Areadbhar once more to heft it weightily in his good hand, “but I can still fight.”

And Nemesis is closing in on them in slow, sure steps, the walk of a man who has won the war before even stepping onto the battlefield: confident, secure, angered by their presence. Dimitri shoots a glance toward Claude and tightens his grip on his lance. “What's the plan?”

Claude wishes very badly that he could embrace Dimitri. His heart wants nothing else, for all that they're on a battlefield, for all that the war isn't over yet. Claude almost lost him, it came so close - and yes, there was always a chance he could lose Dimitri, but that doesn't mean he'll ever be ready for it. He wants to hold Dimitri in his arms, kiss him, prove to himself that Dimitri is alive.

But there's no time for that, and he doesn't even have healing magic to mend that arm. He had a vulnerary - attached to Hyacinth's saddle, and the wyvern is now screeching from his position on the ground, lashing out at the remaining enemy soldiers. As Claude looks that way, he sees his fierce companion seize a swordsman's arm in his jaws, biting and tearing.

Claude can't reach him for that healing potion. They don't have time. Nemesis is walking toward them as if they haven't decimated his forces, as if he isn't facing defeat. And if anyone should have that kind of confidence, Claude supposes it should be this - man? Is Nemesis a man anymore?

“We'll distract him,” Claude says. “If I can land an arrow on him - just one - it should be enough.”

But it's a tall order, for all that it sounds simple. Claude is missing his mount, tied to the ground and unable to maneuver freely, and Nemesis' sword is a strange creation that breaks apart, more like a bladed whip than anything. With that, it'll be easy enough for him to deflect Claude's arrows.

Unless he has something else taking up his attention.

Claude hates to ask this of Dimitri, who is wounded, who deserves to be able to rest - but there's no one else.

“Be careful - _please_ \- but distract him for me. We can do this.”

For now, Claude remains by Dimitri's side, offering his shoulder to steady Dimitri until he can stand, until he can hold his lance more easily.

“Of course,” Dimitri says, so easily.

Nemesis flicks his wrist and his sword segments, the blade coming apart into a chainlike whip that curls around his feet.

“Go,” Dimitri whispers, tentatively gripping at his lance with his injured arm, “go now.”

The whip lashes out toward him and Dimitri rushes forward, away from Claude. With the way the thing is designed, it can't be dodged the way most swords or lances or arrows can be: the blade whips out in an arc and it's all he can do to hold his lance against it, to block it. The chain whips around his weapon easily and Nemesis smirks, yanks to disarm him, but Dimitri holds firm, his teeth gritted against the pain in his arm.

Claude goes.

With that weapon, Nemesis would be able to face them both easily if he remained at Dimitri's side. Claude knows that well, and yet it is still difficult to leave Dimitri to face the brunt of Nemesis' strength alone. Dimitri is injured, tired - Claude is no less tired, and he's beginning to feel the bruises, his speed is hampered by the ankle he twisted in his jump from Hyacinth's back. Neither of them is in the shape they need to be to face Nemesis alone.

And he can't stay by Dimitri's side, he can't guard his back, because then he'd never find an opening. His only chance is to let Dimitri distract Nemesis until Claude can land a shot, and pray that his arrow flies true, pray that it all happens before Dimitri falters.

Because if he falters for even a moment, Claude knows Nemesis won't hesitate.

Nemesis pulls again and Dimitri snarls, crest flaring as he resists Nemesis' strength, then smiles in victory when his opponent gives up and the chain loosens its grip. It allows him to move in closer and so he does, closing the distance between the two of them in long, even strides.

The sword becomes a - well, a sword again moments before Dimitri almost runs him through with his lance and Nemesis deflects it easily, the weapons clashing brightly. The two of them collide, and they might have been somewhat evenly matched if Dimitri had been in full health and fresh without battle but as it is, he's losing by inches: a slash to his arm here, a glancing blow there.

What's working in his favor is that Nemesis seems to rely on his brute strength in his fighting style and is surprised to find that Dimitri may as well match him there, which hinders his technique. Nevertheless, Dimitri is unable to keep him at a more advantageous range for a lancer due to that damn sword and when Nemesis closes the distance between them again - and again, he's put hard on the defensive, relying on his footwork, blocking with the shaft of his lance, losing ground but putting up a hell of a fight for it.

At least with Dimitri's ferocity, his training and expertise in this, he manages to demand most of Nemesis' attention, keeping it away from the rest of the battle - and from Claude.

Claude scrambles to the side, without his usual grace and ease of movement. He slips around Nemesis, raising Failnaught as he does. The power of his relic means that one landed shot will end this - but of course it won't be that easy. His first shot is deflected by a lash of that strange sword-whip, the second slips by, barely grazing Nemesis' arm.

And Dimitri can't keep this up forever. His strength is surely starting to flag, and his body may very well give out on him before too much longer. He still matches Nemesis, strike for strike, pushing with all his might, but Nemesis is starting to push harder, gain more ground on him, taking advantage of his growing fatigue to pressure him further and further back until he blocks an overhead sword swing with the shaft of his lance held horizontally above his head and Nemesis kicks out, an armored boot crashing into his chest and sending him sprawling.

His wounded arm fails and Dimitri drops his lance, hitting the dirt once again, rolling away, reaching for his weapon only for Nemesis to place a foot on the blade. Dimitri kicks out toward his shin to wrench it back and drags himself up onto his feet again, breathing hard, winded by his fall. His movements get sloppier, his defenses falling.

But in the end, that's what finishes it. Nemesis laughs, victorious, seeing that opening in Dimitri's defense, and surges forward to take advantage of it - but Dimitri is too strong a warrior to disregard even for a moment, and in that moment all of Nemesis' attention is on Dimitri, his sword high.

Claude takes the opening he has been given. Distract him, he asked Dimitri, and Dimitri has, and all Claude needs is this split-second of inattention.

He draws Failnaught and lets an arrow fly. It cuts through the air, straight and true, and punches through Nemesis' armor to bury itself deep in the man's back, the arrowhead seeking out his heart - or whatever might be left of it.

Nemesis freezes, sword arm wavering. He does not fall - not yet - but he stumbles, eyes going wide, laughter fading.

There's no time to hesitate and Dimitri seizes the opening, plunging the tip of his bladed lance into his foe's throat. Nemesis falls to his knees, and over the bulk of his body Dimitri’s eye follows the path of the arrow spearing through his back, rising to meet Claude’s gaze.

Claude can see Dimitri move - one step, then two, and then his adrenaline gives out. He stumbles, falling to his knees in exhaustion, the pain of his injuries surely beginning to catch up with him now as he gasps in large gulps of air.

When Claude sees Dimitri fall, there's a sharp rush of fear, the sudden feeling that he was too late - but no. Dimitri is injured, is exhausted, but he's alive. Nemesis' blade didn't fall.

He's alive. Nemesis is dead.

Claude feels that wave of exhaustion then, the adrenaline fading away as he realizes the battle is over. There are still pockets of fighting here and there, spread across the battlefield - the remnants of Nemesis' army, unwilling or unable to surrender, being put down by Alliance and Kingdom forces - but they're few and far between. It's over.

It's actually over.

He can feel all the small injuries he's taken, bruises and small wounds, nothing serious except perhaps his ankle, that he now finds he can't put much weight on at all. He's tired, so tired, and part of him only wants to rest.

He limps to Dimitri's side, letting himself crumple when he gets there so that he's next to him, sitting in the dirt. Nemesis' body is not far, and perhaps it should feel morbid to see it there, but the sight of it only reminds Claude that they're done. That they defeated this man, this monster.

“We did it.” He says it quietly. Some of their allies are approaching now - Raphael and Ignatz, Sylvain, a small battalion of healers - but they aren't there yet. There's enough time for Claude to reach out, to take Dimitri's uninjured hand, to hold on to it tightly for a long moment. Dimitri is alive. They're both alive. “Mitya. Thank you.”

“Mm.” Dimitri tangles his fingers around Claude's own, clumsy due to his gauntlet. His exhaustion is clear on his face, but he watches Claude carefully, squeezes his fingers once, and then pulls away. 

Sylvain moves up toward them, grinning, and Claude sees his gaze flicker to their hands - connected for a moment, then apart.

“We won, huh? Why are you on the ground? You okay? Ah- here-” He reaches down to help Dimitri up and Dimitri reluctantly takes his hand and moves to stand while Raphael moves to help Claude. A soft cheer begins to ring out around them as news spreads through the army that they've won, that their king is alive, that Claude is alive, and Dimitri turns toward Claude, but before they can speak he’s being pulled back by a healer who is seeing to his injuries. 

Dimitri is looking at Claude over her shoulder, and Claude wants to move toward him but Ignatz is talking to him, telling him something excitedly and before he can really even think, the two of them are pulled away from one another by their own separate responsibilities and armies.

After this battle, after everything, Claude knows that they all need this - they need to ask questions, even if they don't really care about the answers, they need to share their part of the battle, they need to find friends and embrace them and know that they're alive. And of course they need him to answer their questions and - more than anything - reassure them that it's over, that it's really over.

Claude does it. He does it all, because these are the people who have fought alongside him for so long, who have trusted him and followed him, even the ones who only did so reluctantly. He owes them this much at least - to be their leader until the end, to calm their fears, to say again and again _yes, it's over, Nemesis is dead._

He's exhausted, he's in pain. Until the healers get to him, Raphael's arm under his is most of what's keeping him upright. But he keeps a smile on his face and tries not to let his weariness show, and he only looks through the crowd to find Dimitri when he can't take it anymore.

And every time, Dimitri is with his friends, with his Blue Lions and his Kingdom troops, so Claude knows he's all right. He wishes - of course - that he could be by Dimitri's side instead, but he still has responsibilities. They both do.

So he speaks to the Alliance nobles, and he tells the commanders to begin moving troops back to the monastery, and he's already planning, he's already thinking of what will come next.

Dimitri's coronation, surely. The rebuilding of Fódlan.

Goddess, he's exhausted. But Claude feels more hope now than anytime during those long grinding years of war.

Now, maybe, they can have peace.

And after everything, after the nobles and the commanders, after he finds Marianne and makes sure Hilda is healing under her care, after he checks on his other friends and after everything is finally, finally over, Claude only has the energy left to seek out Dimitri, to find him and pull him away from everyone who wants his attention. And he has the right to do that, because he is the general who led them to victory, and if he wants a few moments of the future king's time, he can have them.

This once, Claude uses that entirely for his own benefit. They have things to discuss, he says, plans for the coronation, things to settle.

So he steals Dimitri away, to his tent, solely so that Claude can touch him, and know that he's alive and intact. If either of them had any energy - even a little - Claude would wish for more, but all he wishes for in this moment is to sleep next to Dimitri, feel him breathe, and know they'll wake next to each other. Safe. Alive.

And that is what they do.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Nemesis dead and the war over, it's time for Dimitri to finally accept his birthright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @requiemofkings did an absolutely BEAUTIFUL fanart of a scene from Chapter 13 - please take a look [here](https://twitter.com/requiemofkings/status/1205844845870190594?s=20)! Thank you so so so much!

After all this time, it's hard to believe that this is actually real. That Dedue is fastening the blue velvet of an ornate and long cape over his shoulders, the fabric folding in on itself, obscuring the delicate gold embroidery that probably took someone years to complete. It will trail far behind him on the floor, but Dimitri supposes that's intentional, if impractical.

The rest of his clothing is much the same: impractically ornamented, fabric hanging loosely off of his elbows and waist in a way that would hinder his movement in an actual battle - but this isn't a battle, it just feels like one.

Dedue finishes the fastenings at his shoulders and moves in front of him, where Dimitri can extend his arms, one after the other, for the delicate ties at his sleeves to be cinched closed in a way that only a second person could help him with. The doublet is a gleaming white, the fabric intricately patterned, edged in gold. The entire thing feels more delicate than anything has any right to be and Dimitri feels as if he shouldn't even _breathe_ too deeply or risk ripping it somehow.

As he finishes up the ties on his sleeves, Dedue seems to notice the hesitation and lets the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile, reassuring in his own way.

“We've waited for this day since we were children,” he says softly, turning his gaze back down to adjust a few more things, fix the way the cape lays on his shoulders, “I'm honored to be present for it.”

Dimitri shakes his head, though the movement makes it harder for Dedue to remove his eyepatch while another attendant reaches for his hair to tie it back. It's useless though, still too short in places to make it all fold back neatly, but she does do her best.

“I would have it no other way. As soon as I can get out of these damned clothes,” Dimitri wrinkles his nose as the attendant brings another eyepatch out, also white, also trimmed in a gold that matches his hair, _goddess_, these people and their obsessions with this sort of thing - but he lets them put it on, too afraid that if he lifts his arms he'll tear something. “-anyway, as soon as this is over, I'll begin allocating resources to Duscur. We've waited too long and that's my own fault. Still, I would like you on the committee overseeing the Duscur restorations immediately. With Kleiman implicated in -”

“- your highness, the coronation.”

Dimitri winces, having gotten a little ahead of himself, but Dedue just smiles, a little more notably this time, and takes the jeweled rapier in its belt from the attendant, handing it to Dimitri who gingerly wraps it around his waist where it hangs from his side, a useless weapon in a fight as all the jewels in the hilt would unbalance the blade, but - the coronation.

Once they're ready to go they make their way to the great hall, the castle seemingly abandoned with not a soul in the hallway that passes them by. He supposes that everyone is inside the hall or outside around the grand balcony, waiting just to catch a glimpse of him. Claude is somewhere inside as well, he thinks, standing inconspicuously with the rest of the great generals of the war and lords of the land.

Well... he probably shouldn't disappoint them.

Dedue lets go of the train of his cape, evening it out over the floor as the music of the orchestra begins to trickle through the closed doors. Felix approaches too, quickly and without any signs of his previous injury, his eyes dark and surly. Dimitri figures that Felix hates this sort of thing even more than he does, and it sparks a touch of amusement in him to watch his mouth twist down into a frown as he takes his position on Dimitri's left side, with Dedue at his right.

“Let's just get this over with,” Dimitri hears him mutter as the doors open and there's... there's more people inside than he's ever seen in this hall in his entire life, all the nobility of Faerghus, the nobility of the Alliance, and even a few members of the Empire who have declared early for him and are here as a show of their new unification.

He takes a deep breath.

There's nothing to do but to walk down the long stretch of the hall, over the velvet carpet, and to the staircase, where Rhea is waiting in front of the throne - still a bit haggard, but looking much healthier these days, helped by the fact that she's also in her court finery, her hair done up in an elegant twist, her robes layered and intricate. 

Dimitri feels his stomach lurch slightly but swallows down his own hesitation and begins to walk, his eye already searching through the crowd. Ashe is there, with the rest of his close allies and generals, accompanied by Ingrid, Mercedes, Annette - but he doesn't see him. He'd insisted Claude be here, demanded Claude be given a seat right up front with the rest of his trusted officials, and his eye passes over them again before he finally catches a glimpse of him and oh, his heart melts at the sight.

Claude always dressed well enough during the war, all things considered, but now, for this… the Kingdom’s tailors must have worked night and day on this. He's all in golds and yellows and black accents, the fabric finer than anything Dimitri has ever seen. His doublet is closely cut, with a wide belt and thick bands of fabric at his wrists both embroidered in an intricate floral pattern. 

It suits him in a way Dimitri can’t quite place and it gives him the strength he needs to push on, to keep moving toward Rhea, who beams proudly down toward him as he approaches the throne and the ceremony fully begins.

It's a long walk to the base of the stairs and Dimitri halts there, Felix and Dedue standing quietly next to him. Rhea merely watches them as they approach, her chin tilted high but with warmth in her eyes. The orchestra dies down. Dimitri wants to look at Claude again but with the location he's in, he'd have to fully turn his head, which everyone would see and so he forces himself to stare at Rhea while Seteth to her right announces him.

“Our most holy Archbishop, I present to you: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the heir apparent to the throne of Faerghus and, through victory in war, the Adrestian Empire. He is of sound mind and body to inherit this throne and he has my full endorsement. Do you see a reason that he should not be crowned today?”

Rhea shakes her head serenely and Seteth continues, addressing Dimitri this time.

“And do you wish to accept your duty to this land and its people, to hereby be crowned king of Faerghus and the former Imperial lands of Adrestia?”

This is the moment. Thousands of eyes are on him and Dimitri closes his eye and thinks about that night in a cramped room, Claude's hand on his, his gentle smile. _This land deserves a king like you._ He thinks about Claude's unwavering belief in him, the push of his affections that resulted in Dimitri accepting this burden that he thought he didn't want at the time.

Maybe he'd agreed for selfish reasons back then. Maybe he'd done it so that he could be together with Claude. But the crowd of people around him when he'd conquered the Empire, when he'd taken back Fhirdiad, all the hopeful eyes and men bending the knee... it's reminded him of a dream he once had, a dream that seems altogether within his reach now, a dream that he thinks Lambert would have been proud of. He's reminded of the _good_ he can do now, of the education he'd gotten as a child, all the preparation he's had for this, and with everything else behind him... can he not seize this opportunity? Can he not lead them?

“It is my honor to accept,” he says, his voice not quite as loud as Seteth's, not accustomed yet to speaking for a crowd all around him. Seteth nods, pleased, and turns to bow to Rhea.

“Then this may proceed.”

Rhea holds her hand out for him and for the first time, Dimitri sees the table next to her, where the various items for coronation are displayed: the scepter, the flask, the ceremonial sword of Loog. He slowly moves up the stairs then until he's level with her and moves to kneel, his head bowed, the cape draped across the stairs.

“Do you swear an oath,” she begins in that hypnotic voice of hers, reaching to take the sword from the cushion near her and lowering the flat of the blade to his left shoulder, “to the people of your kingdom, to serve them and uphold their honor and dignity to the last of your days?”

She moves, placing it on his right shoulder now. “Do you swear an oath to our goddess Sothis, to follow her teachings in all things, to never raise your blade against the innocent?”

Finally, the sword moves, the tip of the blade touching at his chin now, tilting his head up to look at her.

“And do you swear to cut a path toward our future, to use this blade to lead your people and yourself, in wisdom and in honor, until Sothis takes you to be with her?”

Dimitri's hand clenches into a fist at his side to stop himself from trembling and he nods slightly, imperceptibly, and leans forward to kiss the steel of the blade.

“I do.”

Rhea smiles, a small, proud thing. 

“Then I present you with the blade of Loog and the crown of Faerghus and Adrestia.”

She turns the sword to hold it flat in her palms by the hilt and the blade and offers it down to him, where he holds his hands up to take it, tilting his head back down as Rhea turns to take up the crown. She holds it carefully in both of her hands as she looks down at him, regarding him warmly. It's a beautiful and ornate thing - ceremonial, nothing like the day to day ornament he'll likely have to wear - embedded with jewels and detailed engravings, the points tipped in small bladelike spikes.

Dimitri holds the sword, and like this, it's impossible to hide the tremble in his hands, evident in the slight shake of the blade. He breathes, tries to breathe again, and with his head bowed, he turns just slightly, tipping his head just a fraction to find Claude in the crowd to his left.

Claude is looking at him. Dimitri meets his eyes and finds that his breath quiets, his hands go still. He watches him with all the things he wishes he could say, all the things they've been through together, all the ways that Claude has quieted the storm inside of him, and he draws the strength he needs from him here, while Rhea gently places the crown on his head.

“Rise,” she commands softly, stepping back, “as king.”

Dimitri stands slowly, feeling the weight of the crown on his brow, but more than that, the hush in the hall, the power in his shoulders when he turns and lifts the sword toward them. There’s a cheer that rings out in the hall at the sight of him and he can’t help but to look toward Claude again, just a glance, just to see his smile.

“I will uphold my vows with everything in me,” he says, when the noise begins to die down. He’d prepared a small speech as was customary. Dimitri never thought he was good at this sort of thing, but this is important enough that he has to try. He spent the better part of the night prior memorizing his written words and when he recites them now, he feels the gaze of everyone who helped him to make it here: Rodrigue, Claude, Dedue, and all the others.

“I will lead. I will fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. With this, I promise to rebuild all that was lost during the war and before it and give rise to a new Fódlan: one where all of its citizens are treated with respect and can freely stand before one another in companionship and solidarity. We must come together as one - to rise and reach out our hands to one another, no matter the differences between us. I believe that with compassion, empathy, and understanding, we can bridge the gaps that lead to this terrible war and begin to heal.”

Dimitri takes a deep breath, looking down toward all the nobility of his lands, and nods.

“I will not rest. I will not give in to greed or temptation. And so I urge you all to do the same: you, who have your own lands, your own people, your own responsibilities. Those of you who have supported me, and those who bend the knee now - I would not be standing here, were it not for your efforts. I thank you, and I ask for your patience and understanding as we move forward into a new dawn.”

He steps back, lowering the blade, holding it tightly in his hands as his nerves unfurl and he waits for the reaction from his people. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long - the crowd erupts into another hearty cheer, this one louder than before, and among the sounds of celebration and joy, he turns to find that Rhea has already stepped back, leaving an unobstructed path to the throne.

Dimitri looks at it silently, remembering the sight of his father sitting there, standing before it, making his decrees. He feels dwarfed by Lambert’s shadow even now, and he hears it, a soft whisper that tells him, _it’s always going to be this way, Dimitri_.

He blinks it away and turns back toward the crowd as the next part of the ceremony begins.

The Kingdom nobles make their way one by one to the dais, to kneel before him and speak their vows. Some - whose allegiances changed with whoever prevailed during the war - are pale but resolute, ready to face what retribution their king may decide upon. Others - those who had been loyal, who fought in his name even when they feared him dead - have no such fears. 

It's a long process and it may have been tedious if Dimitri hadn't known almost all of these lords by name, if he hadn't known most of them since he was a child. Sylvain's father, Ingrid's father... and even Ashe, stepping forward for house Gaspard. He honors each of them, thanks them for their pledge, and allows them to return to where they are seated.

Rodrigue makes his way forward and kneels and when he looks up to Dimitri, there are tears of pride in his eyes. He’s the one who has organized this entire event, remaining in Fhirdiad while they fought Nemesis, to get the affairs in order with enduring faith in Dimitri’s success.

Dimitri accepts his vows with a smile.

His entire life, Dimitri has loathed this sort of position. Throughout his year at the Academy, he'd insisted everyone refer to him as an equal, by his name and without any of this _your highness_ or meek politeness. Now, as he stands above them all and as their positions are cemented beneath his own, he finds himself uncomfortable, but understanding the necessity of it all nevertheless. This is just a ceremony, he reminds himself as Annette kneels to him as a representative of house Dominic, this is just a show. He can go to all of his friends later and try to erase the formality between them if he can, though now that there is a crown on his head, everything feels far more permanent.

Still, the nobles of Faerghus are eventually done and he watches the Imperial nobility work to promise themselves to him, to renounce all previous loyalties to Edelgard and he nods graciously, letting the flash of irritation slide away as he welcomes them into his new nation. There's no place for grudges or hatred here, not when they've been through so much, not when he knows that Edelgard's cause was noble as well, for all that she refused to budge on it.

And when that’s over, Claude, _Claude_.

It’s Claude's turn to step forward. Unlike the Empire, the lords of the Alliance were not defeated - in fact, they delivered Dimitri his victory and stood aside while he, rather unintentionally on his way to face Edelgard, claimed the lands of Adrestia for Faerghus. 

Although Dimitri knows that Claude eventually intends on joining the Alliance with the rest of Fódlan, the process will take time, and for now the two are still separate entities. To that end, most of the Alliance nobility are in discussions for their own concessions in the war, to make treaties, be granted land or more titles or riches as thanks for their service to Faerghus and the alliance between them both.

That will take some time, and Claude will unfortunately be part of almost all of those negotiations. Today, he makes a vow in the name of the Alliance, as its leader.

“Your majesty,” he says, kneeling, though he does not lower his head - instead still meeting Dimitri's gaze, “in the name of the Leicester Alliance, I vow that we shall support your rule and offer our strength to your kingdom. In the sight of the Goddess, I swear that we will provide you aid and stand by your side whenever we are needed.”

And then he smiles, just for a moment, and although Dimitri has grown skilled at reading Claude’s smiles, he doesn’t quite know how to interpret this one. 

“And as the Duke of House Riegan, I pledge to you my house and my lands. I will rule them in your name, with House Riegan as your eternally loyal vassal.”

Dimitri keeps his expression carefully blank, even while Claude looks at him, makes vows to him, and his heart sings with every word.

A murmur breaks out among the crowd when they realize what Claude has done, and Dimitri is pleased for it because it gives him a moment to compose himself, to think of how he will respond with Claude so lovingly laying out all of his family's house and lands to him. He has noticed, of course, that Claude skirted around the question of his _own_ loyalty, and he knows why - that pledge is for Almyra, not for him, but in the quiet shock of the crowd, no one else seems to notice.

He loves him. Wholly, completely, he loves him. Dimitri opens his mouth and he wants to say it - _I love you_ \- he doesn't care who knows or what will happen afterward, but he holds himself back, if not for his own reputation than for Claude's, and instead simply nods, contemplative.

“I accept your pledge. The throne honors House Riegan, and I…” There's a pause - this wasn't really anticipated, and so Dimitri hasn't practiced a script for it, but after a few tense moments, he thinks of something quickly and continues. “...I vow to protect your lands and your people with all the strength I can offer. I vow to honor them, to serve them justly as their king, and to be fair to them in all things.”

Not the most eloquent, but it serves its purpose. Dimitri nods once as a sign of respect and tries not to think about how much he loves him, how it pains him to see him walk away when he could - if he could somehow come up, take the throne with him, then the two of them could...

It's foolishness. Utter foolishness. Dimitri glances downward for a moment, but his attention is demanded again by the next noble who comes up and then the next.

After everyone swears their fealty comes the presentation of gifts and other meaningless things for the throne. Dimitri had requested that this part go quickly, and so most of the gifts had been grouped, read off in lists by the noble house's representatives: livestock, gold, artifacts, lands, research - all things that he'll have to sort through eventually and make some sort of use out of.

And then it's over. Dimitri remains still as Dedue and Felix dutifully move to his side again, each of them unfastening his cape on each of his shoulders and taking it with them as he moves, unencumbered, to sit on the throne for the first time. There's an uprising of cheers from the audience and it seems to last forever, and Dimitri looks over all of them, thinks about his responsibilities, and lets his gaze linger on Claude for a half second too long, before the audience begins to file out.

There will be another presentation on the grand balcony, and then a feast, and then - he doesn't know what else, _something_, there's always something. But that's alright, he thinks. This ceremony may be all pomp and frivolity, but it _means_ something. The war is over. They're at the end of their journey and Claude... Claude has seen this through, further than anyone could have asked of him.

So he'll do it. Dimitri will do all of it, and he'll do so with a gracious smile on his face, because he _is_ pleased, because he doesn't deserve it but he will work harder than anyone to honor it, because now they can finally see their dreams come to fruition.

_

The feast is lavish, well-attended. There's a sense of relief to it all, more than anything - _finally_, people seem to be thinking, _finally we can go back to the business of living our lives_. Much will come of this evening: marriage contracts, new trading partners, lifelong friends and temporary lovers. All the nobles of this new land, together in one place with food and wine and a reason to celebrate - how could anything else happen?

Both Dimitri and Claude are in high demand, which prevents them from seeing one another. Dimitri knows that plenty of Alliance nobles will be annoyed about Claude’s stunt in the throne room, when he pledged his house to the throne. There are others too, nobles from the Kingdom and Empire alike who want their attention.

Dimitri isn’t made for festivities like he is for battle. He tries to wear a good face throughout it all, but he hasn't been around so many people in years, and so when he eventually snaps a growl at some noble (not some noble, Ser _Galatea_, who'd sidled up to him and asked him if he'd noticed how radiant Ingrid was becoming, how she fought beside him, and unwed, you know-), who can blame him?

Dedue is quick to guide the offending noble away, but he's replaced by another, and then another. It isn't just hints of marriage proposals, though those are the most annoying as a seemingly unattached king, it's the sheer number of 'friends' he has crawling out of the shadows, people who never would have given him their support during the war, people who move into his personal space, smile at him, and offer their _sincerest_ congratulations, when he knows that if Edelgard or even Claude were standing in his place, it would be the same.

The whole show of it sickens him. He's guided through only by Dedue's firm hand as he dismisses people away from Dimitri again and again, and the short glances he can exchange with Claude, too far from him to touch, too far to speak, too far to do anything but watch him. In all the strain of the crowd, Claude's face is like a warm ray of light, and every time he looks at him, every time Claude draws close enough to whisper a comment in his ear (_you’re the brightest thing in the room, your majesty_) and flits away again, Dimitri remembers to breathe once more.

Evidently, Dimitri isn't the only one getting fed up with this crowd, and so when Claude moves to eventually stand and take his leave, he aches to join him but someone else is bending his ear, some small noble of the Empire who wants to regale him with a tale of how he'd fought Edelgard since the beginning, but Dimitri can't take his eyes away from the empty space that Claude has just moved through, disappeared out of sight.

“Go to him,” Dedue finally murmurs, apparently unable to take Dimitri's clear pining any longer. Dimitri turns toward him, affronted, opening his mouth to say something - but nothing comes out, and Dedue puts a hand on his arm, friendly, speaking in a voice low enough that only Dimitri can hear him. 

“You've wanted to all day. He'll calm your nerves. Don't worry, I'll cover for you until you return - or,” he adds, his smile turning into something sharper, the kind of expression Dimitri has never seen from him before, “or if you choose not to come back at all tonight.”

And Dimitri, well, he doesn't know what to say to that - to any of that. Sure, in the throne room, over Edelgard, he vaguely remembers embracing Claude while Dedue guarded them both, but they haven't... he's never actually spoken to him about this. He's never quite known just how much Dedue knows about the affairs of his heart.

As luck would have it, he seems to know quite a bit. Dimitri finds that his surprise wears off rather quickly, because of _course_ he does, and turns into embarrassment instead, his cheeks pinking.

“I... thank you,” is what he finally says as he excuses himself, standing from his ridiculous chair, insisting that no one rise with him when all the nobles move to stand respectfully.

What a nightmare.

Dimitri says nothing more to him as Dedue steps up, informs them that he has a personal matter and that he'll be back soon and to please, return to their meals and - Dimitri doesn't hear the rest of it, he's already moving toward where he last saw Claude, trying not to appear overly rushed, but wanting to get there as quickly as he can all the same.

It's here that he catches a glimpse of him: Claude, leaning on his elbows against the railing of one of the balconies, yellows and radiant golds against the white marble and the black, starry sky. Claude doesn't turn for him yet - Dimitri doesn't know if he's heard him, he's still inside after all - and for a moment, his heart finds its way into his throat and he just watches him. The curve of his spine how he leans there, the way the heel of his boot ticks up from the ground just barely, the elegant curl of his fingers in the air, it all puts itself together into the shape of something more than a man, something he would fight and kill and die for without a second thought.

He's rooted to the spot for that moment but he eventually finds the strength to slowly move out into the cool night air, sightlessly reaching behind him to tug the almost-sheer drape from the loose knot it hangs in, to let it flutter over the entrance in some kind of attempt at privacy.

“Claude.”

He finally says his name the way he's wanted to all day, the way that he does that almost means something else entirely. Dimitri doesn't close the distance between them yet - he simply waits for Claude to turn and watches him, wanting to commit every movement and flutter of him to memory.

“Dimitri,” Claude says in response, turning with a smile on his lips. He steps closer, and Dimitri catches Claude sparing a quick look back at the sheer curtain, before stretching up on his toes to press a kiss into his lips.

It’s just a light, soft thing but he’s wanted this all day. Dimitri doesn't want him to move away, doesn't want him to find a conversational space and so he steps forward, chasing Claude back with a hand on his cheek, cupping his face, staring down at him with nothing but affection in his gaze, his heart.

“I wasn't sure they'd let you slip away,” Claude breathes, “I can't blame them - the things I'd do for a few moments of your time.”

“All of my time is yours.”

It's gentle, breathless with how he's been watching him, and Dimitri slides his thumb along Claude's cheek, desperate to touch him, to keep him close, to keep his face tilted upward so he can lift his other hand and cradle Claude's beautiful face in his fingers and lean in for another kiss, holding him as if he might fracture and break underneath him.

The kiss won't last forever but Dimitri makes sure it lasts longer than the first one, close-mouthed and chaste but full of his desire all the same, as if he's trying to make this moment last for an eternity, as if he's trying to carve this feeling onto the inside of his ribcage so he can feel it every time his chest expands, so he can remember what it was like when Claude was under his fingers in the cold Faerghus night, and Claude was _his_.

He breaks it, dropping a hand to Claude's waist, not quite letting him get away just yet.

“I've been wanting to do that all day,” he admits a little shyly, the flush from his earlier conversation with Dedue returning to his cheeks, though Dimitri hopes he can blame it all on the chill of the evening. He glances down, his hand on Claude's face finally dropping to his shoulder where he traces the ornate line of his court apparel down to his chest.

“You look radiant in this. I could barely remember what I was supposed to say when I saw you standing there.”

Claude seems taken aback by the compliment and Dimitri can read the carefully-controlled surprise in his expression, the same way Claude seems to hesitate every time Dimitri tells him that he loves him. Like he can’t believe it’s real, like he doesn’t trust his own ears at first. But then he melts into it as he always does and smiles, a real smile, up toward Dimitri.

“The color suits me, but I could never outshine you, my king.”

He says it - not particularly formally. In fact, it sounds a little less like a term of respect and a little more like a pet name when it's on Claude's lips. Something you might whisper in a lover's ear when they're in your bed, body pressed close.

It's _definitely_ not the way he sounded when he was making his vows earlier.

_I'm not your king,_ Dimitri wants to say, with a tinge of regret but he holds it back - why bring that up now, when they both finally have a moment alone together? Why remind Claude that he never formally pledged himself to Dimitri there in that throne room, that he never can and never will?

So instead, Dimitri lets his other hand drop, until both of them are settled lightly on Claude's hips, keeping him close. In turn, Claude raises his arms, twining them around Dimitri’s neck. No one is looking. They have a few moments.

“I wish I could stay close to you. Be at your side...” Claude continues, his smile growing mischievous. “Sit on your lap, maybe.”

Dimitri’s eye goes wide and he shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. It seems like Claude will never grow out of teasing him, but at least _this_ sort of teasing is a sight better than it was when they were in the Academy. With this, there's at least a mental image of Claude perched on his lap, lounging with his legs kicked over the arm of the throne, that he can linger over in long, private moments alone.

“I can’t say I don’t like the thought of that,” he manages to joke back, before bringing Claude in a little closer.

Claude is pressed warmly against him and Dimitri hugs him close to his chest, trying to commit the feeling of him to memory, to sink into the weight of him, and to share this moment and the depths of his feelings for him as long as he can.

“You're doing an amazing job,” Claude whispers after a few moments of silence, “never doubt that.”

“I haven't done anything yet,” he reminds him, tipping his head under the weight of the circlet - he'd refused to touch the overly ornate thing for any longer than the ceremony itself forced him to wear it. Now, there's just a ring of braided gold high on his brow, almost unnoticeable against his hair at a glance.

“But I've arranged for a few meetings tomorrow. Repairs and support need to be sent to the villages ravaged by Nemesis, to those displaced by Cornelia, our own war path, and of course, Duscur…” There's a pause, and Dimitri looks back down at him, having gotten lost in his ambitions for a moment. “-sorry. I've just been thinking... there's so much to do. And I want to…”

It's back on this again. Dimitri shifts uncomfortably on his feet, glancing up past Claude to the moonlit gardens beneath them. His voice gets softer, true longing this time instead of just the listing of his duties.

“...I wanted to show you Fhirdiad. Before you left.”

But Claude is watching him with the same expression he had during the coronation, something that aches like pride, and Dimitri finds himself flushing in embarrassment.

“I didn't mean that.” Claude says it gently, looking up at him. “I meant here, now. I know this isn't what you would prefer to be doing, but you're handling it well. I just - thought someone should tell you.”

Dimitri blinks, not quite expecting that, and Claude doesn’t move away. He's admittedly surprised at that - both that Claude thinks he's genuinely doing that well and that Claude realizes that Dimitri probably needs the small bit of encouragement. The admission makes him go quiet for a moment, wonders how Claude could be so observant while still seeming so aloof all the time, and eventually just accepts that it's another reason why Dimitri loves him.

“I want you to show me Fhirdiad,” Claude continues, “I've never been here before - I want to see everything. There’s so much left to do…” he starts, wistfully, before his voice goes soft, “I’m not leaving yet. We still have time.”

Dimitri’s heart swells at that - he wants to show him his Kingdom, wants to show Claude all the sights there are to see, where he grew up... he wants to see Claude's eyes light up as he brings him into the royal library, wants to take him to see his parent's graves.

He's reassured of course, that Claude isn't leaving quite so soon. He doesn't really know what kind of timeline that Claude is working with, and knowing that they'll have _some_ time is a relief, and one that makes him squeeze Claude a little tighter in a soft embrace.

“Maybe, someday…”

It seems so foolish to say - so foolish that he shouldn't say it at all, but if he keeps thinking about it then he'll never spit it out.

“-maybe someday you can show me Almyra, too.”

Stupid. There's no guarantee that Claude would want him to go there, no sure bet that Claude would want to keep up this affair after returning to his homeland, being crowned king, but... well, even if they do break this off to rule their respective countries (a thought that hadn't really crossed his mind before now, but now terrifies him more than anything), there's still peace talks to do, still visits that need to be made. Claude could show him then, Dimitri thinks. He'd like very much to see where Claude grew up, how he became this sort of person that he is.

His anxieties seem to be for nothing however, because Claude's eyes brighten at that and he grins, elated.

“They'd like you there, you know. Strength is admired, even if you are from Fódlan. It's much warmer there, so you might have to dress down a little. But - it's beautiful.” Claude sounds almost wistful, maybe even a little sad, despite his smile. Dimitri recognizes the tone - it’s the same tone he had when he was telling Claude about Fhirdiad and he runs his fingers through Claude’s hair as he listens, interested.

“If you want to see it, I'll take you there someday. But for now -” Claude hesitates, reluctant, “- I ought to send you back inside. They'll be missing you.”

Claude tugs him down for another kiss, though, gentle and longing... and then another, this one considerably more hungry. Dimitri returns it in kind, feeling the rising intensity of it, feeling Claude's need throughout it and offering it all back to him. He'd tried to stay reserved in thought and in action for most of the day, but with Claude's insistent mouth underneath his, he finds that his self control is slipping and he grips harder, pulls him just a little closer, and bites his lip when Claude pulls away.

“I'll come to you tonight.” Claude whispers, “after this is all over.”

“Is that a promise?”

He asks it breathlessly, wanting it to be, knowing that Claude is good for his word. A whole castle full of things could take him away - nobles who need talking to, tasks that need doing, papers that need signing - but Dimitri wants to make every effort, wants Claude to do the same. If they can meet tonight, then... if they can plan for it, then... then maybe he can take the time to prepare, to make their meeting truly special.

He hopes, anyway. He's been king for less than a day, but if he can get away for just an hour or two before turning in, he thinks that they may be able to finally have the night that they'd been longing for, all this time.

“It's a promise.”

Claude steals another kiss, and then pulls away reluctantly. He reaches out, brushing off Dimitri's shoulders, straightening his surcoat, though there's no real need for it. When he’s finished, he smiles up toward Dimitri, flashing teeth.

“Go in first. I'll wait a bit, then follow. We can't have a scandal on your very first night as king.” And finally, he lets go, and really steps back. Dimitri lets out a soft smile in return, wanting to reach for Claude the moment he steps away but holding himself back as he knows he must. He already misses the warmth of Claude under his fingertips, the softness of his skin against his lips, but... he'll have him again. Soon. He must tell himself that or he'll never let him go.

“Your room. Later.”

“I'll be thinking of you every moment until then,” he confesses, but plays along to Claude's plan anyway. 

It's difficult not to at least try to kiss him as he walks past, but Dimitri remains strong, thinks about how sweet it will be to have Claude underneath him in a real bed, against the finest sheets in the Kingdom, and the thought of it gives him the strength to move back inside, to steel himself and go back to the feast where he knows his disappearance has likely been noted.

Dedue had said he'd cover for him, even for the rest of the night if need be, but Dimitri wouldn't ask that of him. He knows that, however romantic the notion of stealing away with Claude is, in reality his appearance would be missed and people would start to talk. It's like Claude said - they can't even hint at a scandal, not this early in his reign.

So, he goes back with renewed energy. He smiles at the various lords and ladies as they all vie for a moment of his time. He watches Claude's empty seat now, his promise echoing in Dimitri's ears, and he waits. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri finally have their night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Dimitri PoV chapters back to back? It's more likely than you think!

The royal suite is understandably large with an equally large bed, draped in blue and too comfortable for Dimitri's tastes. He's been staying here for the week or so prior to his coronation and so it's adequately lived in: his armor is set up on the stand in the corner, the Areadbhar unmistakably in an ornate weapon rack near a wall, too precious to be left in the armory. There are massive windows leading out to where the sunrise presumably is, a small private balcony, his own fireplace, and an adjoining door into a private bath.

It's all more than a bit overwhelming, but Dimitri has tried to make himself comfortable where he can, even if the overstated luxury is more than a little ridiculous. Now that Claude is finally coming to see him in his rooms, however, he finds that he's pleased for both the lavishness and the privacy of his rooms and the indulgence that it will grant them both.

He wonders if he should light a few candles or something, but instead moves for the fire, stoking it into a gentle roar to shed some light onto the room. Dimitri knows that his clothing will be far too obnoxious to remove but even he can't do it all himself - he gets a head start though, loosening all the small hooks on his sleeves and the sides of his coat. Finally, he moves for his desk, opening one of the drawers and flushing as he takes out a small jar of oil he'd discretely - and optimistically - purchased a short time ago, and places it near his bedside table instead.

After that, there's nothing to do but wait. Dimitri moves back for his desk and eventually _does_ light the candle there as he moves to take out some spare treatise he'd been working on in his free time, his brow furrowed as he sinks himself into the work - distracted by the idea of Claude on his way here, but able to put some part of his anxiety aside all the same, if only due to the complexity of the document he's trying to write.

It doesn’t take as long as he feared before there’s a knock on the door. Dimitri can’t be sure who it is at first - in his heart, he wants desperately for it to be Claude but he knows that it could be any number of servants or guards with news, now that he’s king. 

But it’s Claude who opens the door, Claude who steps inside in a fresh change of clothes and finds him in the room before closing the door behind him and smiling fondly toward Dimitri.

“Hey. Not tired yet, are you?”

Dimitri pushes his chair back, leaning an elbow over the back of it with a pleased smile, trying to calm the thunderous beating of his heart.

“I'm more awake now than I have been all day,” he responds, his voice warm. It's stupidly romantic, but he thinks that it could even be true. Looking at Claude, even dressed down and looking more casual, Dimitri feels his own pulse bound to life. To think that Claude is his, that he is Claude's, that they can prove it to one another in a long and slow rhythm for the rest of the evening… it’s more than he can bear, and Dimitri’s smile goes a little wobbly when he considers it all. 

He thinks about using his private baths with him, he thinks about pulling the silk sheets up over him and curling into his body with no one around who would dare barge in on their privacy. He thinks about waking up to the morning sunlight dappled across the bare skin of Claude's shoulder beside him. He wants that, more intensely than he can bear it, and so Dimitri moves to stand, crossing the distance between them in long, even strides so he can have Claude in his arms again, like he was so fleetingly a few hours ago.

“Forgive me,” he asks, embarrassed at how quickly he falls into Claude's arms, how he must have him close again before they've even exchanged hellos. Dimitri's voice a low rumble in his throat as he continues, “I can't hold myself back when I'm around you.”

In return, Claude stretches up, just kissing at his jaw in an affectionate welcome.

“I wouldn't forgive you for holding back. Being near you like that, _looking_ like that, and not being able to touch you... what a terribly unfair evening I've had.”

Claude pulls away gently so that he can take one of Dimitri's arms, his fingers going to the complicated lacings holding his sleeves closed. Dimitri offers his arm readily, watching as Claude unties it carefully, taking his time as if he’s opening some anticipated gift.

“I'd like to make up for it, if I can,” Claude murmurs, smiling up toward him.

The ties are delicate, but Claude's fingers are nimble enough that he'll be able to get it off without too much trouble and as much as Dimitri dislikes feeling inequality between him and his friends, it's strangely satisfying to be tended to and cared for.

His fingers flex experimentally when Claude is done with that hand, the digits still slightly stiff from his various injuries, and he lets his arm drop to his side, holding out the other for Claude to take.

“I'd be happy with anything that comes to mind,” Dimitri admits, a fool but hopefully one that Claude finds endearing. He steps in closer, impeding Claude's attempts to get him out of his coat so he can nuzzle at the other man's cheek, lean his head downward and press a kiss along Claude's temple, sink his nose into his hair.

“I just want to have tonight, with you.”

And that's it, really - it's what he's wanted this entire time, since before Nemesis, even since before Edelgard. One single night that they can do whatever they wish, to just have _time_ spent with one another, adoring one another in whatever way they want. Selfish, he thinks, but then again so is Claude.

When the other sleeve is done, Dimitri breathes out a sigh, lifting his hands for the ties at his collar. His fingers are still a bit too stiff to be much good with this precise work, but with Claude's help, he manages to slowly get it undone enough that he can finally pry the coat off of his shoulders and down his arms, leaving his undershirt beneath it. It's a shame to let such a beautiful piece of handiwork fall to the floor, but Dimitri hardly pays it any mind and steps toward Claude again, getting his arms around him and leaning down for another long kiss, the first _real_ kiss since the balcony had left him wanting.

Claude slides his arms around Dimitri's waist, leaning into the kiss. They don't have to be careful, don't have to worry about anyone walking in on them now. Even if someone needs Dimitri - unlikely, on this night - it would be a grave breach of protocol to do anything but knock and wait for permission to enter. They can have this. They don't have to hide right now.

“Tonight is yours,” Claude tells him, like a secret pressed between their lips, “tomorrow night too, if we can manage it.”

Dimitri hadn't even begun to think about _tomorrow_ night. About how they can have this again and again, for as long as Claude is in the castle and can sneak around inconspicuously. He hadn't thought about how this could even possibly be a regular occurrence. But it can be - Claude is offering that to him, just like Claude is offering so many other things that Dimitri just wants to pin him against the wall and make him mindless just like that.

(He can. He _can_, if he wants to.)

And Dimitri knows sometimes one or both of them will have too much work - he knows that while they rebuild Fódlan they might need to travel separately sometimes, but the idea of this becoming a habit, of spending their days together and falling asleep next to one another… it can’t last, Claude has to go to Almyra, but until then… until _then._

“You said ‘anything that comes to mind’?” Claude recalls, drawing Dimitri out of his thoughts while he smiles up at him. “... hmm, all kinds of things come to mind when I look at you.”

He pulls back demonstratively, looking up toward Dimitri and Dimitri can just _see_ the way his mind is working, can almost trace all the impure thoughts that Claude is considering.

“I'd like to touch you. I'd like to have you in my mouth. But - there are other things that we could do.”

“I want everything,” Dimitri insists quickly, following Claude when he pulls back, unable to resist the magnetism of his body, his voice, those beautiful eyes. Dimitri kisses at his hairline again, a thought striking him, and he goes still for a moment, a small flush of embarrassment barely visible on his cheeks in the firelight.

“I... um.” He breathes, anxious suddenly, shifting back on his feet and trying to figure out the best way to bring this up. They can do anything now, they're safe and protected in this palace, they can take their time, and so he'd thought - maybe. Dimitri clears his throat awkwardly and doesn't meet Claude's eyes, still nervous about his lack of experience in these matters, all the things he might not know.

“I have - oil. I thought that... if you wanted to, we could -” the rest should be obvious, so he closes his mouth for now, the flush far more pronounced on his cheeks. Dimitri had never particularly considered this part of sex, but he knows the basics of it from the bawdy conversations that seem to happen in the dining hall, from the crude jokes of the soldiers in their armies, and even from a few embarrassing tales he's managed to overhear from Sylvain.

He's worried, of course, that he's somehow misunderstood and gotten it wrong, but everything about it _seems_ straightforward enough and for all that he's generally open with his desires to Claude, there's always the anxiety that it won't work out, or that Claude won't want to.

“It's alright, if you would rather…” He feels acutely like he's messing this up. He wants to wince at the sound of his own voice, goddess, how on earth does Claude put up with him? “-I love everything that we do together.”

Claude looks up at him affectionately, running his fingers up the back of Dimitri's neck, through the soft short hair there.

“I do want to,” he murmurs, reassuring Dimitri’s sudden anxiety. “I've never done that before. Not... well, not either way, but I want to, with you. I want to give you that.”

He seems more comfortable than Dimitri to talk about this and Dimitri doesn’t know if it’s because Claude _is_ at ease here, or if he’s simply trying to calm Dimitri’s obviously-frayed nerves. Regardless, Dimitri is relieved that Claude seems almost eager to go along with it, and it makes something surge in Dimitri's chest, a kind of desire that he'd been holding back until now.

He smiles, his anxieties wiped away by Claude's agreement and leans in to kiss him again, tracing his hands down Claude's chest and feeling the rigid lines of him through his shirt, sliding his hands down to his waist and hips, and he grabs at him, pulls him closer in a rush, and stumbles them both back. 

The wall next to the door is the closest surface right now and so Dimitri presses Claude up against it, breaking the kiss only so that he can lean in to kiss at his neck, threatening to bite, but not moving to do so - not yet anyway.

“Do you want to - have me,” Claude asks, and _there’s_ the flush on his cheeks, though whether it’s from the subject material or the fact that Dimitri is manhandling him is unclear, “or shall I...?”

“I don't care,” Dimitri breathes against skin, his hand reaching for Claude's thigh, pulling his leg up to his waist so that he can step in easier against him and press the first hint of his arousal against Claude's hip. There's a pause and he pulls back, his gaze heated as he takes in just how much he's mussed Claude up already.

“No - I do, I want to…” there's a soft growl in the back of his throat, they're doing this, Claude wants to, and now it's nothing but full steam ahead as Dimitri presses firmer up against him, trapping him against the wall. “-I want to take you. In my bed, where I can lay you out and see every part of you, I just…”

He gasps for breath, kissing him again, rocking up to slot their still-clothed cocks together as he builds his arousal. In truth, it doesn't take much - he's been wanting this all day, after all.

“- it's all the way across the room, and you're right _here_.”

His desperation seems to have some kind of an effect on Claude, who kisses Dimitri hungrily and slides downward to press his mouth to Dimitri's neck and kisses him there. He seems to get some semblance of control - or at least, more control than Dimitri, because he pushes Dimitri away, just far enough to get at the fastenings of his pants.

“Let me get you out of these. Then - the bed -” Claude is clearly a bit more focused than Dimitri because he manages to get Dimitri’s pants undone sooner rather than later.

“Yes, alright,” Dimitri agrees, using the opportunity to tug his undershirt up over his head and let it fall behind him. Once that's out of the way, once Claude has unlaced his ridiculous court pants, Dimitri finishes the job, shucking them down his thighs and stepping out of them until they're both standing there in their smallclothes.

With that, Dimitri crashes back against him, pressing Claude into an intense kiss, his forearms on either side of his head, braced against the door so that they can press together, chest to chest, the long lines of them slotting together like they were made for one another. Dimitri distantly thinks that they must have been for this to feel the way it does, like it completes him.

_The bed_, he thinks, and he pulls away just for a moment, only long enough to lean down and grip at Claude's thighs and to _heft_ him up, lifting him easily, encouraging him to wrap his legs around his waist as he tilts his head up for a kiss and turns them, making steady progress toward the bed.

“I want you,” he tells him, breathless, “I've wanted you for so long.”

Claude wraps his legs around Dimitri's waist, his arms around his neck, and presses kisses to Dimitri's forehead, his temple, the shell of his ear.

“Tell me,” he whispers it in his ear, though there's no need to be so quiet except for a desire for intimacy, “tell me how you've wanted me.”

Dimitri makes a sound low in his throat, tipping his face up into the kisses that Claude is peppering along his face. It's sweet, a stark contrast to the low intimate whisper pressed against his skin. It takes Dimitri a moment to compile his thoughts and he uses the time to walk them carefully to the side of his too-large bed and gently lower Claude down against it, sinking down afterward as if connected to him in some way.

“When I bought the oil, I thought about you under me,” he admits, crawling on top of him, knees on either side of Claude's hips so that he can kiss him again, lean over him like a beast, wanting to cover as much of Claude's body with his own as he can. “I heard people talking about it - how good it feels. I wanted to feel that way. To make you feel that way.”

Dimitri sinks his hand down, trailing past Claude's defined stomach, nails pressing into his skin as he hesitates just for a moment on the hem of his underclothes, the only thing he still has on. His next words are soft, barely more than a whisper as he lowers his head to Claude's throat, getting his mouth on him finally, _finally_ able to worry a bruise in over where the last one has long-since faded.

“I did it to myself, to see. To make sure it wouldn't hurt you too much.” It's murmured against skin now while his fingers slip down to finally touch at Claude's cock, tracing over the now-familiar shape of it. Claude arches against him, not quite hard yet, but showing interest as Dimitri starts to work at him. There's a smile against Claude's throat, and Dimitri nips at him again, more confident and sure of himself now that Claude has told him that he wants this too.

“I think you're going to like it.”

Claude smiles in return, tipping his chin up to offer Dimitri more access to his throat.

“I think I'd like anything, as long as you were the one doing it.”

He slides his hand down Dimitri's chest, fingers tracing a scar and then sliding further, across unblemished skin and down, down, pushing past the barrier of Dimitri's underclothes. They should have taken these off too, Dimitri realizes, but in his haste to get Claude onto the bed, he hadn’t really thought about it.

“Mmm... I like thinking about you,” Claude says, finally getting a hand on his cock, stroking at him, “touching yourself, thinking of me. I've thought about it too. What it might be like, with you inside me.”

Dimitri groans low in the back of his throat at Claude's careful touches, Claude knowing just how to handle him by now, and Dimitri shifts over to kiss him with a gentle murmur. He has to take his hand from Claude to push the rest of his clothing out of the way, awkwardly kicking at it until it's gone to give Claude more room to work with, eventually doing the same to Claude. It requires a little more work, but he pushes and pulls at them both until they can finally work the last of their clothing off and he's left with Claude's sweet skin, the smooth line of his hip, the shadows between his legs.

Dimitri wants to explore all of it, to taste every inch of him and he starts by sliding off of the bed between Claude's knees, pulling Claude with him to the edge of the bed. His eye is dark with lust as he traces kisses down Claude's thigh, pressing his lips against his knee, shifting his hands down to Claude's ankles.

“I hope I don't disappoint,” he manages, teasing as he slowly works his hands and mouth in tandem, massaging the hard muscle of Claude's calves as his lips find their way down to the side of his knee, tracing a line up his inner thigh with his tongue. It's not enough to get his mouth on him - it's not even enough to fuck him, Dimitri wants to _worship_ him with open-mouthed devotion and he does so just there, on his knees with his hands finally high enough to press against Claude's thighs, parting his legs wider and moving in to press a soft kiss against the head of his cock.

“Stop me if I do anything you don't like.”

In response, Claude reaches to tangle his fingers in Dimitri's hair, content to let him set the pace.

“I will. But, Dimitri, you don't have anything to worry about. I like everything you do… I like your hands, your mouth, your cock...” Claude is, as usual, utterly shameless once he gets going. Dimitri loves it, loves the way that it makes him feel, even if he could never hope to say things like that himself. “I would spend all day with you here if I could, and never get dressed once.”

“Mm.”

Dimitri doesn't offer much of a response before moving in to his work, wrapping his mouth around the head of Claude's cock and taking him in, cheeks hollowed as he sucks. Dimitri wastes no further time teasing him, not when Claude is talking like this.

Dimitri's eye closes as he focuses on his task, bringing his hands up to stroke what his mouth can't reach quite yet, his left hand lifting higher, higher, up Claude's stomach, pressing a palm flat against the center of his chest. It's warm and he can feel Claude's heart beating through his fingers when he lifts off of him, presses his cheek to the side of his cock, nuzzles his way down to the base of it.

“If you had pledged yourself to me, I would order that of you,” he warns, more playful than he is serious. Dimitri dips his head down lower, pressing a kiss to his balls, slipping his tongue along the softest skin he finds there.

Without much warning, Dimitri _pushes_ with his hand over Claude's chest, tipping him backwards so he can press further into the forbidden space between his legs. It takes a moment for Dimitri to coordinate, but once he manages to get his bearings, he continues stroking at Claude's cock with his free hand - not anything that could really get him off, just enough to be pleasurable, teasing, to split his focus between the sensation of Dimitri's fingers and his wandering tongue as he finds the crease of Claude's thigh, nips at it there, and slowly, as if building himself up to it, shifting further in, further down.

Dimitri takes a breath against him and tips his head forward, pressing his tongue gently against Claude's rim and he hears an answering gasp from above him as Claude shifts his hips in surprise. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable though, just… surprised, and so Dimitri moves again. He doesn't make a move to press inside, still testing the boundaries of what Claude likes, what Claude might let him do, but after a moment, he licks his tongue over him in long, even strokes, with his heart feeling like it's going to pound out of his chest.

“Goddess, I - that feels -” Claude seems at a loss for words at this new kind of intimacy and though his voice is far away, the intensity of it sets a fire in Dimitri and makes him more eager to press into him, to apply a bit more pressure with his tongue, and to slowly drag down his hand from Claude’s chest. “- you’re so incredible.”

Dimitri makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat as he uses his fingers to splay Claude open and presses his tongue against him again, and then, just slightly, just barely, _in_. He's already imagining how it must feel around his cock, already thinking about how tight Claude is, how warm he feels, and he tries not to let his thoughts run away from him but it's difficult.

“Hang on.” 

Luckily, on the floor as he is, the bedside table is only a few paces away and while it's regrettably too far for him to reach over and just grab at, it doesn't take long at all for Dimitri to scoot over, to take the jar out of the drawer where it'd been kept and bring it back over to where he kneels again between Claude's knees.

He doesn't want to stop what he's doing, doesn't want to make a mess with the lubricant quite yet when he has Claude gasping like _that_ and so he leans in to press a kiss against his inner thigh, to lick at his hole again, languid, insistent. It's wet with saliva still, wet enough that he laves his tongue over a finger and slowly presses the first third of it inside, spit-slick and slow while he drags his tongue against it, mouthing at the seam of where he's pressed in, in.

“Okay?”

He won't go much further without the oil but for now, for this, he likes the way his mouth makes Claude unfurl, likes the way that Claude lets himself be vulnerable with him. No one else has ever seen Claude like this, he thinks. No one else ever will.

“Yeah,” Claude says, a little breathless. “I'm okay. It's - good.”

Claude is fully hard now, and Dimitri longs to suck at his cock again but there are more important things for his tongue to be doing - like pressing inward again, along with his first finger, slicking the way with his saliva and lapping at him where he’s most vulnerable.

“Dimitri…” Claude groans out, pushing himself up on his elbows, “I want you. Please.”

How could he say no to that? Dimitri groans softly and lifts his head to look at him, meeting Claude's eyes over the expanse of his body and seeing the lust and adoration in his expression makes him forget entirely about what he's doing, with everything cleaned out of his thoughts except the need to be close to him, be near him, to touch him and press further inside -

“Me too... I want -” Luckily, he doesn't have to articulate much when his actions will do the job for him. Dimitri sits up, grabbing the jar and sliding up, crawling back onto the bed and over Claude, pressing his mouth against Claude's skin, tonguing at his navel, his ribs. He wants him, more than he's wanted anything else, and he looks up at Claude with a little smile before nodding toward the head of the bed.

“Here - prop yourself up on the pillows, let me…” Dimitri shifts, helping Claude to move back to the center of the bed while his fingers work at the fastenings of the jar, sliding it open after a moment and narrowly avoiding making a slick mess. He slides two fingers into the jar and fastens it again, setting it aside so that he can crawl up against Claude's side, prop himself up next to him and kiss at his shoulder, sliding his hand back between his thighs, past the purpling bite marks and the spit-slick shine against his skin until he finds his hole again and shifts to press a finger inside.

He's impatient but he tries to be thorough, using his fingers where his tongue had been, feeling all of Claude before he lets himself go deeper, press further, until he's buried inside of him, slick and warm and everything he'd been hoping it would be. Claude moves back against him, gasping for breath, easily accepting the intrusion and adjusting without too much issue.

“You're beautiful,” he breathes, teasing with another, not quite trying to stretch him yet though, just - getting used to the feeling of fingers instead of his mouth, reaching further than his tongue could go, further still now that Claude is slicked up and ready to open for him.

“You don't need to sweet-talk me,” Claude pants through a flash of a smile, flushed and needy already, “I'm already yours. All of me.”

Dimitri blinks for a moment, his finger stilling as he watches the way Claude moves around him.

“You think I'm just saying this to win you over?”

He asks it as he starts to move again, twisting it, slowly pulling it out and then begins to add another. It's a slow process and Dimitri is perhaps over-careful, but he wants to make sure he does a good job, wants to make sure that they can make the memory of their first time doing _this_ a good one.

“Allow me to make myself perfectly clear.” He punctuates this with a soft press of his fingers, adding pressure until they both press inside, pulling apart to start easing him into the idea of being stretched open, to get him comfortable for his cock. “Your radiance outshone every other noble in the great hall today,” he starts, pressing deeper, spreading him wider, while Claude keens beneath him. “your skin bruises for me so sweetly. Your mouth is perfect. I dream about your eyes when we're apart.”

He leans in, pressing his mouth over a nipple, scraping his teeth over it before trailing his tongue along the sensitive skin in an insincere apology. Claude pulls his hair in turn and the sharp pain makes him gasp with desire, the sensation of it spiking pleasure down his spine.

“I would tell you that every day,” he manages, keeping focus on his task, adding a third finger now - maybe too soon but he's testing his boundaries, his eye intent on Claude's expression as he starts to press inward. Claude tenses, wincing just slightly, but works through it and Dimitri takes it as permission to keep moving. “Maybe I should.”

“I couldn't take it if you did.” Claude starts, but then Dimitri does something with his fingers that makes him whine again, spine arching and _this_ is what Dimitri had been hoping for, Claude spread out and helpless to the pleasure underneath him.

“Goddess - Dimitri - please,” Claude asks, practically begging him, his knee hitching up, “I’m ready.”

Dimitri can’t help it - he rolls his body languidly against Claude, pressing his untouched hard cock against the swell of his hip. He knows to take his time, he knows _patience_, but when Claude says he's ready, Dimitri thinks he should trust him and press on, and so he does, getting his third finger all the way inside of him, feeling him warmly stretch around his fingers, careful to ensure that there's still plenty of oil to keep things slick.

“I know,” he breathes, burrowing his face into Claude's throat, feeling the warmth there, focusing on trying to keep the pace of his fingers even, smooth as he pries him open in slow, deep thrusts. “You're taking it so well. You're so strong for me... I want to splay you open like this all day, never let you leave my bed.”

Dimitri surges forward again, rolling back against Claude's hip with a soft sound in the back of his throat - he's so hard just _hearing_ what he's doing to him, in Claude's breathless sounds and the slick, sticky noise of three fingers buried deep in his ass. He doesn't know how he'll be able to manage being _inside_ him but he has to hold firm for now, has to - somehow - keep himself from the edge.

He finally pulls his hand away after another minute of preparation, ignoring the soft complaint of loss and shifting up on an elbow to look at Claude's eyes while his now-free hand reaches for the jar again. Claude doesn’t let him go far and reaches to pull him closer, kissing him, all hunger and need.

“I'll go slow,” Dimitri murmurs between kisses, while Claude slips his arms around his shoulders and nods. The reasons, of course are twofold: he doesn't want to hurt Claude, but he also doesn't want to end this too early. As it is, he's already shifting his hips away, worried that any sort of friction may end him too soon.

Claude nips at Dimitri's lip until he opens his mouth and slides his tongue inside, filthy and shameless, demanding. 

“We have all night,” he says, needily, but his voice is less affected than Dimitri would have thought. Claude seems focused, intense, “You can go as slow as you want - but right now I need you to fuck me.”

_I need you to fuck me_, Claude says, and it sends a flash of arousal through him like lightning. Dimitri can only nod dumbly and pull back, opening the jar again to dip his fingers in and coat his cock in a careful and indifferent motion, getting himself nice and slick for him.

He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what - so instead, he just repositions himself, slips back down between Claude's thighs and uses a hand to lift one of his legs up, spreading him like he's been spread before and reaching a hand around himself to properly guide his way against him.

“Tell me - if you need me to stop,” Dimitri finally urges, breathless with need as he finally starts to press in.

And it's the tightest, sweetest thing he's ever known, hot and slick around him and he's barely gotten the head inside before he gasps shakily in pleasure. Dimitri hesitates, secures himself and presses further, stretches Claude wider and deeper than his fingers had.

Claude goes tense but manages to breathe through it, shaking his head at Dimitri’s broken look of concern.

“Don't stop,” he says, practically begging again, biting at his lip and reaching up for him, “you feel - good.”

Dimitri goes still when he's all the way inside and gasps in a breath, keeping himself in tender control while the both of them get used to the feeling of it, of the two of them finally sharing this between them and the wonderful sensation it brings. Dimitri wants to lean in and kiss him again, but for now he balances himself over Claude, experimentally withdraws just an inch or so and rocks back into him.

Claude focuses on relaxing, breathing through it, and Dimitri can see that he’s in pain but also that he wants this, that he needs this, that he won’t forgive him for stopping, and so he continues.

He knows how to do this. It's... instinctive, there's nothing in the world easier than this simple slide, shifting his hips against him. He never pulls out very far, doesn't want to make this more intense quite yet and honestly, Dimitri just likes the sensation of being buried in him, as close as they can possibly get and wrenching their pleasure out of his short, shallow thrusts.

“Claude, I -”

He's breathless and he knows Claude wants him to go faster and so he picks up the pace a little, pressing in deeper, harder, biting at his lip in concentration as he strives to give Claude everything - everything he could possibly want, everything he needs, everything they both need.

Dimitri doesn't know how to finish that sentiment or what he was really even going to say. That he loves him, that he feels good, that he wants to do this again and again, that Claude is so warm and _tight_ around him. He's not going to last long, but he can't stop pressing into him, chasing their pleasure and giving everything he has to him.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, not exactly, but Claude reaches down to touch himself, clumsy with need, and barely manages to get his fingers around his own cock before Dimitri sheaths himself fully and suddenly Claude is arching, crying out, moving up against him.

“Dimitri -”

Claude cuts himself off with a groan as he moves his body back against him, trying to take him deeper, to force him to press against that spot again, communicating in his movement, rather than his words. Dimitri can read the shift of Claude's body as if it were his own and he moves to meet his demands as eagerly as he can, inhaling sharply when Claude shifts in a particular way that makes the next push tighter, deeper, somehow even better.

He wants to - he wants to do everything. To get Claude in his lap, to lay back and have Claude ride him, to press him against a wall, bend him over a desk. He wants to do this in every way that they can, and he knows that they have time for that now, that Claude can stay with him overnight where they can try any number of things.

Which is good, because he's not going to last much longer with this.

“Goddess, _nnh - Claude -_”

It's too good, too hot and sweet and Dimitri is curling over him, shuddering as he presses in one last time, his movement going still, buried as deep as he can possibly get while he comes in short, pointed jerks of his hips against Claude's own. Dimitri shudders his way through it, groaning as he chases his release into Claude's body, his hair hanging low over his face. It feels better than anything - but then again, he feels that way about everything they do together.

Once he doesn't have to worry about keeping a rhythm and a pace, Dimitri is finally able to move a hand toward Claude's cock, wrapping around it as he slowly pulls out, oversensitive and reeling. His fingers are shaky but tight around him, stroking in the kind of short, fast strokes that he knows Claude likes when he's on the edge.

“Come on,” he tells him breathlessly, “you're so good. So beautiful when you come for me, Claude…”

Claude cries out wordlessly in turn, bucking his hips against Dimitri’s hand and then Dimitri feels wetness on his fist, moves with the telltale jerk of Claude’s body and steals his desperate cries away in a kiss as Claude comes hard against him, shuddering with the force of his release.

They breathe for a moment. Dimitri closes his eyes and thinks about doing this again already - and they _can_, they have a little space and time for themselves now, Claude's rooms just down the hall from the royal chambers and all the reason in the world for the former leader of the Alliance and the King to sequester themselves occasionally.

It's more freedom and more privacy than they've ever had. It won't last forever but they can hold on to it tightly and embrace it while they can. 

Claude reaches up afterward, a little shaky, pushing the hair out of Dimitri’s eye so that he can look at him.

“I could write poems about you, like this.” He smiles, tired but so happy. “Maybe I will.”

Dimitri smiles softly and he's at loathe to leave Claude _now_ of all times but he needs to slip off of the bed so he can put the jar away and pick up a towel for them, which he does, returning to Claude's side as quickly as he can and crawling up the bed toward him to lay on his shoulder, curling in toward him.

“I'd love to listen to them,” he murmurs back, without a trace of mockery in his tone. He'd love everything, coming from Claude. “That was... nice.”

Dimitri reaches his fingers up to gently brush Claude's hair back, admiring the weary and satisfied look on his lover's face.

“That was more than nice,” Claude says gently, but with a touch of amusement. Dimitri smiles and leans in for another kiss, slow and unhurried, just reveling in their closeness together.

When he pulls back, he moves to take off his eyepatch, still the overly ornate white one from the coronation - he'd forgotten, and it makes him smile in amusement to himself as he hangs it on the headboard and settles back in, laying on his side so he can press the side of his face in the pillow so as not to make things awkward with his disfigurement.

“I love you.”

It's soft again, but quiet enough in the room that Claude must hear him, with all of the affection and love he feels bleeding out in his voice. Claude stops smiling through, watching as Dimitri moves and shifts closer to him, his fingers sliding over Dimitri’s jaw.

“Hey,” Claude whispers, getting Dimitri’s attention and leaning in to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his jaw, and then gently pushing him back so that he can press a soft kiss to the ruined tissue covering his eye.

“There's nothing about you that I don't like.”

It's a gentle admonishment, and for all that Dimitri had grown in the habit of blowing the candles out before taking his eyepatch off, or pressing that side of his face into the pillows, he’d never - well, of course Claude would _notice_, but it was just a simple fact of life, just something he did out of consideration.

To hear this now, to feel the brand of Claude’s lips over the scar tissue that Dimitri tends to hide, even when it’s in plain sight - it makes Dimitri go shock-still, flinching away at first before relaxing into the softness of Claude’s breath over his brow.

“Claude -”

That Claude accepts it, that he says he _likes_ this, it wells at something deep within him and his expression slowly crumples as he fully processes the implication behind Claude's words.

Dimitri moves forward then, wrapping an arm around Claude's chest and pressing his face against his shoulder, needing to be close to him, to embrace him warmly with a leg hooked around Claude's own and his head pillowed against his chest.

“You have me,” he promises softly, his breath hushing out against Claude's skin, “all of me. Forever.”

Maybe it’s something that he should have known without Claude having to say it. After all, Claude has accepted Dimitri since the beginning when he was barely human, crouched and feral in a prison cell. But it isn’t easy to take things on faith, and even things that should be clear and taken for granted in their relationship sometimes come as a surprise.

Claude wraps his arms around Dimitri, simply holding him.

“Then I am certainly the luckiest man in Fódlan,” he says it lightly, but honestly, running his fingers through Dimitri’s hair. “Rest, my lion. You deserve it. I'll be here when you wake.”

Dimitri sighs into Claude's words, relaxing warmly against his chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath him. The blankets are strewn around them from their earlier tryst, but he's not cold, despite his nudity - between the fire crackling in the corner and Claude warm and pressed against him, Dimitri thinks that he'll never be cold again.

He wants to tell him that he loves him again, but he's certain that Claude knows. Dimitri finds that he's exhausted after all of this, the pressure of the coronation, the endless idle chatter with the various nobles, and then the most pleasant end to the evening, falling into Claude's arms and exerting themselves into one another in that way.

It doesn't take him long at all to drift off to sleep like that, tangled around Claude's body, holding him tightly, as if he'd never let him go if given half the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! The holidays have been super crazy, and with Dimiclaude Week coming up, we're both trying to prepare! Hopefully it was worth it!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude has always said that he will eventually leave Fódlan, but when the time comes, it isn't so easy to say goodbye.

The rebuilding of Fódlan takes months.

It will take years, really, this is only the beginning, but the progress they've made just in these months is something to be proud of. After years of war, finally there is peace, and in that peace time to begin mending what was broken. For some that means a ruined shop or trampled fields, for others it means searching for family. For Claude and Dimitri, and all the nobles of the land, it means attempting to put the country itself back together - back together into something new. A reunited Fódlan, after so long.

The negotiations that merge what was once the Leicester Alliance into the newly united Fódlan don't take as much time as they might have. Claude is there to usher things along, using his hard-won respect as the leader of the Alliance and the commander of the forces that brought down Edelgard's empire. He doesn't allow anyone to exploit weaknesses, fiercely certain that everyone's first priority needs to be healing and helping one another to heal. It's not easy. He has a lot of late nights, a lot of headaches. But the last Alliance lord swears his fealty to King Dimitri before the Wyvern Moon ends, and reunification is complete.

They both have work to do. Dimitri must settle into the rhythms of ruling and Claude must take advantage of his own unique position - war hero and perhaps the most powerful man in the country after the king - to help make the decisions that must be made. They have work to do, but unlike during the war, it isn't unrelenting. Lives hang in the balance, yes, but not because armies are about to clash. It’s because crops need to be grown or traded for, towns need to be rebuilt, the sick and wounded need to be cared for.

It's work, and it's difficult, and it's important, but Claude finds it infinitely more rewarding than the work of war. Even on the days when it seems nothing can be done, even when he feels he's failed at a point of negotiation or forced a compromise that none are happy with, he can rest knowing that he did as well as he was able.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Claude may have feared that the calmer rhythms of peace would not sit well, that he had been at war so long that he was no longer suited to the smaller, quieter decisions that come with peacetime. But that isn't the case. He knows that - for him - this is temporary, that soon he will be facing danger and hatred again, and that this reprieve should be appreciated for what it is.

Some days he dreads that, but he knows it must be done. He has always planned to return to Almyra, even if it means leaving all this behind.

_Not forever_, he thinks, when he's laying next to Dimitri, watching his sleeping face. He's leaving for many reasons, but he's also leaving so that he can come back, so that they can - someday - have a chance. If he succeeds.

That doesn't really make it easier, but then, nothing does.

They have this. They have these months. He isn't always able to be with Dimitri - Claude has left the Riegan territory in the hands of capable administrators, but he still must visit Derdriu occasionally, mainly for former Alliance negotiations. He travels to Enbarr, to oversee some of the teams searching in dusty texts and reams of papers for more information about Those Who Slither in the Dark, as all of Fódlan needs to be sure they have been entirely uprooted. And Dimitri leaves Fhirdiad as well, visiting areas of the country that need his attention, that need a personal visit from their new king. Sometimes Claude goes along. Sometimes he can't.

But the majority of their time is spent in Fhirdiad, the king's home, the newly reclaimed capitol. There is rebuilding to do there as well, Faerghus having suffered under Cornelia's rule and the ensuing rebellion. There are council meetings to attend and decisions to be made, nobles to appease and merchants to coax back into business. The ruling is, of course, on Dimitri's shoulders - but Claude is happy to serve as an advisor. He isn't the only one. Rodrigue provides counsel as well, and Dedue in his subtle way, and some of the Empire nobles - the ones who opposed Edelgard as well as they could - offer their own support. Count Gloucester, of course, has his opinions, and Holst Goneril arrives not long after the coronation to update them on the exploration of Shambala, then stays to provide another Alliance viewpoint.

The new Fódlan must be brought together like this, Dimitri ruling with input from all the combined nations, otherwise Claude knows it will break apart before long. Dimitri is good at many things but the dangerous diplomacy involved in navigating shifting allegiances, long-held hatred, and simmering new disagreements is not yet one of them. Claude, however, has been unintentionally trained in such things all his life, and he puts it to good use in bringing Dimitri's new councilors together. Dimitri will need a solid backing council so that all his decisions will be seen to have support from each faction of the new Fódlan, and Claude intends to make that happen.

What he wants, more than anything, is for Dimitri to be secure in his rule and backed by as many support systems as Claude can create. Claude has to leave, but when he does, he wants to leave Dimitri in the best position possible. As such, he works to deliver the Alliance to Dimitri, he puts all his effort into bringing the king's council together, and - far more quietly - he builds and rebuilds spy networks as best he can. Surely Faerghus had such a network of its own once, but whoever the former spymaster was, they are long dead and their resources scattered. So Claude connects his Alliance contacts and finds more in Faerghus and the former Empire, and when he's cobbled together something that is at least a bit useful, he calls one of Dimitri's most trusted associates into a private meeting. Ashe, with his familiarity with both nobles and those far less fortunate, will make an excellent spymaster.

It's all that Claude can do. It's what he does do, these acts of devotion to his beloved and his king. Dimitri did not want to be king, but Claude can see him growing into the role, can see how well he wears it. He didn't want to be king, but he was raised to be, and though he lost his way, that isn't the sort of thing that disappears so easily. He might snarl and snap sometimes, he might lose his temper or get frustrated, but he is a good king. He cares for his people, for his country. He makes wise decisions.

Claude is proud of him.

He spends every night that he is able to with Dimitri. They can steal moments for themselves, sometimes - Claude brings Dimitri to Derdriu for a meeting with Margrave Edmund, and makes sure they have an extra day so that he can show Dimitri the canals, the harbor, the small parks dotted among the buildings. Mostly untouched by the war, Derdriu is a haven.

Dimitri shows him Fhirdiad, too. The places he grew up, his memories, his home. He endures Claude's complaining through the winter - seeing that much snow starts out delightful, but gets old quickly - and keeps him warm, body wrapped around Claude's during the night, a fire roaring warm in the hearth of the royal chambers.

People probably know. There are rumors. They keep it quiet enough that nothing can be confirmed, except among their closest friends, and Claude thinks that's enough. Both he and Dimitri deserve some small moments of happiness, so he ignores the rumors and does as he pleases. He's in love. He is loved, in a way that he never thought could happen.

He's _happy._

But the moons pass, and Claude knows he can't stay.

It's halfway through the Great Tree Moon when he judges that Fódlan is stable enough for now. It's partway into the Harpstring Moon before he can bring himself to begin his preparations, make his quiet farewells. Their last week together is... difficult. Claude doesn't want to go. He knows Dimitri doesn't want him to. They cling to each other with a fierce need, the only thing pressing Claude onward the knowledge that unless he does this it will always hang over him.

He visits King Lambert's grave and leaves a garland of lilies. Claude does not believe that what haunts Dimitri are truly the ghosts of the dead, but regardless, he asks Lambert to watch over his son while Claude cannot.

He makes sure everything is in order. He makes sure all that he's put in motion will survive in his absence: the projects have someone to oversee them, the council is loyal and competent, Riegan's administrators have no pressing demands, Ashe is thriving in his position. He makes certain of as much as he can, because he knows that while he is in Almyra, it could take weeks for any messages to reach him. He tells himself that if there is an emergency, he can return, though he knows that once things are in motion there it will not be so easy to leave.

He doesn't sleep the night before his departure. Not really. How could he, when Dimitri is next to him, when they are parting? He tries to impress every moment on his memory. The curve of Dimitri's lips, his mouth on Claude's neck, the soft sound of his breathing. It will never be enough.

But unless he goes, he can never come back.

Then the sun rises, and he hasn't slept, but even so - he must go.

“Dimitri.”

He says it so quietly. He isn't going to try to pretend that this is just like any morning.

Next to him, Dimitri flutters awake. His eye blinks open and he sees Claude, and Claude can tell the moment he remembers what today is. Claude can see the emotions coursing through him, the difficulty of it for both of them.

Dimitri turns, rolling to his side to face Claude, his hand finding Claude's own and slipping his fingers against his palm. The night prior, they had fallen together and Dimitri had tried to press every piece of himself against Claude, as if he were a brand to sear into Claude's flesh. Claude can feel his gaze on the assorted bruises that his teeth worried into Claude's skin, forming at his throat, his shoulders, his pectorals. They’ll fade now without Dimitri around to renew them. An empty feeling knots in Claude’s stomach.

“...did you sleep alright?” Dimitri asks, his voice a little hoarse with the morning, but the question doesn’t really need an answer - Claude knows he looks just as listless as he feels, with shadows under his eyes and a weariness in each movement. 

Dimitri shifts closer then, blinking awake to reach for Claude again, move to pull him closer against him. This is the morning. They've planned it for over a month, they both know what's going to happen, even if their hearts are breaking. 

He wants to cling to Dimitri and never let go. He wants to hold on to his hand, stay by his side, never leave this bed. Claude wants it so badly in these moments. Would it be so wrong to walk away? To stay here, devote himself to rebuilding Fódlan and making Dimitri - and himself - happy?

What is he going back for anyway? There are plenty of people in Fódlan who still don't really trust him, still don't think he belongs there, but he's carved out a place for himself anyway. A place where he's trusted, respected, and if sometimes he feels like he doesn't belong... well, sometimes he feels like he _does_. He's never felt more like he belonged somewhere than here in Dimitri's arms. And if he goes back, he's going back to distrust, to hatred, to trying desperately to build something out of nothing.

But he's going back stronger. He's going back with the knowledge that he can do this, the skills and strength he's gained here. He's going back with a reputation, because Almyra isn't completely oblivious of the chaos within Fódlan. He's going back as someone who has already proven himself, to some extent.

It won't be easy. It won't be without danger. But how can he just give up on the place he was born, the home that he loves? And what would happen if he stayed here? He'll have Dimitri, yes, but he's already seen the nobles clustering around him, showing off their daughters, angling for power. The quiet murmurs about Dimitri needing a queen.

Marriage between men is not unheard of in Fódlan, though it isn't common. But as Claude von Riegan, former leader of the Alliance, he really has no standing to offer his own hand to the king - Dimitri needs to marry for political gain, and Claude is already his staunch ally, with nothing to gain from a union between them and many nobles whose opinions would sour should Dimitri choose him over their own daughters.

But as the King of Almyra, things would be different.

That's getting ahead of himself, so far ahead of himself, but right now he needs it. Right now the only thing that could pry him out of Dimitri's arms is the knowledge that, someday, perhaps he can make his way back to the man he loves.

“Well enough.” He says it with a smile, and they both know it's a lie. He slides his arms around Dimitri, holding on to him, just for a few more seconds. “You're so warm.”

He doesn't want to go.

“I should - get up.”

“Mm,” is all the sound Dimitri makes. He brings Claude in close, presses Claude's face to his chest, and pointedly doesn't respond in words.

Claude wishes that Dimitri could hold him here for the rest of eternity. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to make this moment last forever, tries to remember every inch of how Dimitri’s arms feel around him. Dimitri is holding him tightly now, too tight to really be comfortable, but Claude knows, he _knows_, that when he lets go then it will be for the last time.

He'll see Claude off. The two of them will go back to their respective rooms, prepare, and then go to the stables where Claude's wyvern awaits. Dimitri will wave as he takes his leave, he will have to put on a good face and pretend that his heart isn't rending in two. Here, now, in this moment, Dimitri’s expression fractures, the wetness wells up in his eyes, clings to his lashes.

“Not yet,” he whispers, begs, taking in a shaking breath. Dimitri presses his mouth to the top of Claude's head, inhaling the scent of him. Every second that passes is another second closer. 

“Claude…” Dimitri finally says, soft, barely audible in the silence of his room. “I told myself... that I wouldn't ask you not to go.”

Dimitri keeps Claude’s face pressed into his throat, keeps his cheek resting on the top of his head, so Claude is unable to see him cry. It’s on purpose, he knows, Dimitri doesn't want him to see it, but he can't keep the telltale hitches of breath from his voice.

“I know what this means to you. I know you have to. But I'm - I'm selfish, and I'm…” he sniffles, wrapping his other arm around Claude's shoulder. “...I feel like I'm nothing without you. So allow me to say it - one time, just once.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, a tear straying down his face, painting a wet line down his cheek and dripping into Claude's hair. Dimitri inhales again, a soft and broken thing, abandons any semblance of pride he has, and begs him.

“Don't leave me. _Please._”

Claude feels like he's breaking in two. How can he go, when Dimitri is asking him to stay? How can he go, when Dimitri is crying, is hurt, because of him? How can he be so selfish? Especially when so much of Claude wants to stay, so much of him wishes he could just stay here, with Dimitri. Stay here and make him happy, stay here and -

Stay here and give up on the dream he's had since he was a child. Stay, and never be able to break down the barriers between their lands. Stay, and crush a small part of himself that's kept him going for years.

It's not even that which decides him. For Dimitri, perhaps he would be able to give all of that up. Instead, it's the thought of another boy like him, another boy hated, looked down on, ostracized for nothing more than being born different. Nothing more than being not quite what anyone wanted. Claude has fought his way to where he is now, and even here not everyone trusts him, not everyone believes he deserves his place in Dimitri's court. He fought his way here, and he had so many things that others like him don't have - training from a young age. Wealth. A family name. A crest.

What about those like him who have none of that? Doesn't he have a responsibility to reach out to them, to create a world where they have some kind of chance?

He holds on to Dimitri, lets himself be held. He doesn't want to go. He loves Dimitri, with all of himself. But he has to.

“I'm - I'm sorry.”

He takes a breath, and if it's a little ragged, surely that can be ignored.

“But you're wrong, you know. You are not nothing without me. All you've done - all you've become... I may have saved you, in the beginning, but you made these choices yourself. You chose who you would become.”

He knows it's difficult for Dimitri to see it that way, difficult for him to see himself the way Claude does. But Claude needs him to believe it, even for just a moment.

“The king you are, the _man_ you are... you are so much more than you believe yourself to be. I love you, Dimitri, with all of myself.”

He doesn't try to pull away, but he wishes he could meet Dimitri's eye, wishes he could make him understand.

“I have to leave. But I will come back.”

“...I know.” Dimitri says it softly, calmer now that he's excised all of his emotion into his earlier plea. They're set in their paths, they have been for a long time. He knows that. Claude knows that.

He strokes through Claude's hair again, breathing out softly and eventually loosening his grip, letting Claude look up at him, and tilting his chin further for a kiss. It's deep, passionate, and Claude remembers all the things he has to come back for. Dimitri’s fingers slide through Claude's hair, tangling it in his fingers and pulling him close, as close as the two of them could possibly be.

“You must,” Dimitri finally tells him when they part, his voice weak. “I'll wait for you.”

It's a promise and a reassurance all in one. Dimitri presses his palm against Claude's face, slides a thumb across his cheek, and Claude can see Dimitri trying to be strong for him.

He would never have asked Dimitri to wait for him. He wants that, of course - he wants it desperately, wants to know that he will still be in Dimitri's heart even while they're parted, wants to believe that when he comes back, no matter how long it takes, Dimitri will welcome him with open arms. But he also knows that Dimitri is still healing, still growing into the role he has been given.

Dimitri is not in any way a fickle man, but that doesn't mean that his heart won't change eventually. And Claude knows he is the first person Dimitri has been with like this, the first he's loved in this way. Dimitri deserves a chance to decide for himself what he wants without obligation to Claude, who became close to him at such a vulnerable moment in his life. So Claude would never have asked Dimitri for a promise like that.

But - and perhaps this is deeply selfish of him - he isn't going to refuse it. He _can't_ refuse it. He loves Dimitri deeply, and he wants to return, and he wants so badly to have this again. He wants Dimitri's heart, even when they can't be together. Perhaps it's selfish, but perhaps it's only fair. Dimitri has his, after all, and will no matter where Claude goes.

Eventually Dimitri lets his hand fall and moves away, pulling himself out of Claude's embrace for just a moment to reach for the drawer of his bedside table, where he keeps the various things important to him. He takes out something silver and glinting and shifts back to sit on the bed.

“Here.”

His voice is soft as he reaches to pull Claude closer to him and offers him a sheathed dagger, long and slender. The dagger is fit for a king, delicate and sharp, deadly just like him. The sheath is a brilliant blue, ornate and decorated with snow white filigree. At the pommel is the carving of a steel lion head with its mouth open in a roar, at the guard is a delicate etching of a crescent moon. Clearly custom made, one of a kind and functional, despite the beauty of it.

“Gifting blades is an old custom in Faerghus. I hope you do not need to use it - but if you do, use it to cut a path to your goal, to remove your shackles and take what is yours.” He leans in, touching his lips to Claude's temple, breathing him in, pressing the dagger into his hands. “...If I cannot continue being your blade, then allow me to grant you one in my absence. Think of me when you look at it, when you string it through your belt every morning. Think of me when you take it off at night. I will always come to your aid, should you need me.”

“This is - so beautiful,” Claude says, his breath leaving him. He takes the dagger in his hands, running his fingers over the delicate filigree decorating the sheath. It is beautiful, and one of a kind, and so clearly a gift from Dimitri's hands - Claude will be unable to look at it, touch it, carry it without thinking of his lover. He's never received a gift like this before.

Simply saying _thank you_ would be insufficient for the way this makes him feel.

“It will never leave my side.”

It's a quiet, sincere promise. His fingers tighten on the dagger, and he knows already that it will offer him some tiny comfort while they are apart. A physical reminder that he is loved, that he has a place in Dimitri's heart. He turns enough to press his lips to Dimitri's, a kiss just on the edge of desperate.

He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want even the slightest possibility that Dimitri could forget him - even though he knows that could never happen.

“I have nothing that can match this, but when I return - I won't come back empty-handed.”

His intention is quite the opposite: to return with the crown of Almyra, to offer Dimitri something true and lasting that none could take from them. But he can make no promises now, because what if he fails? He'll return to Dimitri one way or another, unless he loses his life, but to come back victorious... it will be difficult. It will be worth it.

Claude reaches up, clever fingers unclasping the earring he always wears, even to bed. He takes Dimitri's hand and presses the golden ornament into his palm.

“Until then, keep this.” He smiles, just a sliver. “Keep it safe. I'll be back for it.”

Dimitri reaches to take the earring, holds it tightly in his hand. Then he leans in to kiss Claude again. Claude is unable to stop kissing him, unable to do anything but hold on to him now that their gifts have been exchanged, to stay close for as long as he's able. They'll have to leave soon - people are expecting them, but here behind closed doors, they can have a few more moments.

“Allow me to send a battalion with you,” Dimitri asks, stroking a thumb along Claude's jaw, “my best men to keep you safe. I've asked them to be here when you leave - they're ready to ride out with you, to stay with you for all of your travels there.”

Claude leans into Dimitri's touch and doesn't answer immediately. He wasn't expecting something like that - he was expecting to fly off on his own, face Almyra on his own. He needs to think about it.

The potential future king of Almyra, returning with a battalion of Fódlan's best warriors. It would be as helpful as it would be detrimental, he thinks. It would not be expected of him - not at all - but he knows from his time here that the best of Fódlan could easily face the best of Almyra. It would, perhaps, go some way to disproving the idea that all men of Fódlan are cowardly. It would show Claude's leadership, show what he has gained from his travels.

But they might think he is weak, that he can't do this without help. They might think that he needed to beg Fódlan's king for help claiming his throne, that he's converted to his mother's homeland entirely. It might make it all just a little bit harder.

But then, won't they think that of him anyway? Claude remembers the taunts, the assumptions everyone made about him. Having a battalion with him might make it worse, but if their strength can begin to convince the people of Almyra that Fódlan is worth allying with, it might do some of the work for him. And Dimitri's warriors may change their opinion of Almyra as well, see it the way he does: flawed but beautiful, just like Fódlan.

He meets Dimitri's gaze.

“If they come with me, they have to obey me completely. They must follow my commands, rather than any orders you've given them.” He says it gently. Surely Dimitri already knows that - any warriors Claude brings to Almyra have to be completely loyal to him, in all ways. “Will they be willing to do that?”

He knows that, even now, some of Dimitri's men don't trust him - just as some of them don't trust Dedue. Likely that will be true forever. It doesn't bother Claude most of the time, it's simply part of his life, but in this case he can't take chances.

He reaches out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Dimitri's ear.

“I don't want to take your men from you. You may need them here.”

“Of course,” Dimitri says, and leans into the touch, turning his head to kiss at Claude's palm. His arms around Claude are in a perfect position to tug him closer, pressing their bodies together, warm and intimate. “I would only send those who would obey you without question.” He hums, kissing at Claude’s shoulder, his eye on Claude's face. “They don't even have to wear Kingdom garments. Take them under the colors of the Alliance or Almyra - or even under the guise of assistants or merchants.”

His gaze lowers as he leans a chin on Claude's shoulder once it's thoroughly kissed, tangling their fingers together. “I have plenty of soldiers at my disposal if needed. Don't worry about me.”

Claude's thoughts drift along these lines: _what if this is the last time he kisses my shoulder? What if this is the last time I feel his arms around me? What if this is the last time I hear his voice in my ear, so soft?_ He will come back - he has promised that to himself, whether he comes back victorious or whether he is forced to flee Almyra in defeat. Either way, he will return to Dimitri's side. But Claude is no fool, he knows well that it may not be so easy, that even he might slip up or be outmatched or face an opponent he cannot defeat.

And though Fódlan is at peace now, he knows he will spend late nights unable to sleep because of what might still go wrong. What might take Dimitri from him.

So he doesn't want to think that anything will be the last time. He wants to believe that it's only for now, that he will feel Dimitri's lips on his skin again, Dimitri's arms around him. But he knows that sometimes the world is not so kind, and so it becomes very difficult to pull himself away, to do anything but press closer to Dimitri and hold on to him, holding his hand like something precious.

“I will worry,” he says softly. “You must stay safe until I return.”

He knows Dimitri will be in less danger than him, but still - _still_.

“But I'll take them. If you're certain you can spare them, if they are willing to come to Almyra with me - I would be honored to have them.”

He's already thinking of how it might help, how their mere presence might open doors and contribute to peace between their countries. He had considered taking Alliance warriors back, when he was younger, but there has been too much blood spilled in the past for that to be anything but dicey. But Kingdom troops - _Fódlan_ troops, now - strong and brave, coming to Almyra peacefully. Serving an Almyran commander, the future king.

It might really help.

And it will be - comforting to have something else of Dimitri's. To look at his men and know that they are... what? A courting gift? It isn't as if Dimitri needs to court him.

A token of love, perhaps.

“Thank you.”

He nudges his nose against Dimitri's temple, pressing soft lips against his ear. Dimitri is thoughtful, kind, protective, so many things that Claude thought he could never have. Things that he thought someone like him could never win from anyone, Dimitri gives to him freely.

It feels almost impossible to leave this.

“No matter what else may happen, my heart will remain yours.”

Dimitri holds him tightly at that promise, nuzzling into him affectionately. “You know I feel the same,” he says soft, reassuring. “I'll never love again the way I love you. So -” Unexpectedly, his voice catches in a sudden swell of emotion. Claude can feel Dimitri’s arms tighten around him as he works through it, swallows around it, and tries to resume. “-so you must come back. Or else I'll go to you.”

Is that a threat or an assurance? Either way, Dimitri grips tightly at Claude in an embrace, just shy of painful, before slackening and letting him move away. “And I'll write to you. As often as I can.”

For a moment, Claude is enchanted by the thought of Dimitri, King of Fódlan, marching to Almyra to - what? Court their prince, perhaps their king if everything goes well? He smiles at the thought, the romance of it. Of course it would be chaos, it would surely be taken as an attempted invasion, he can't allow something like that to happen... but what a sweet thought it is, the fantasy of Dimitri coming to win his hand.

He does need to move away from Dimitri. He needs to get out of bed and get dressed, he has a long way to travel - and, apparently, a battalion that is ready and waiting. He should not make them wait longer than is necessary.

But it feels like the hardest thing he's ever done. Pulling himself away from Dimitri's warm embrace, that familiar body he knows he will miss, those lips, his scarred hands -

He wishes briefly, fruitlessly, that he could take Dimitri with him. Have Dimitri at his side, at his back, knowing that Dimitri will stand by him no matter what threats he may find in Almyra. Knowing that he has that support, has somewhere - someone - to retreat to when the judgment grows too heavy.

But that is impossible, for so many reasons.

“I'll write to you, as well,” he says. “Whenever I can.”

One more kiss, just one more - sweet and soft and longing - and then Claude forces himself to move away, to slide out from beneath the covers and begin getting dressed. He tries not to show how difficult it is. That will only make it harder on both of them.

“This is only for now. For a moment. It will feel like longer for both of us, I know, but - when I return, we won't be parted again. Not like this.”

One way or another. Even if it means Claude returns in disgrace and defeat, takes up his mantle as Duke Riegan and serves as nothing more than Dimitri's advisor and lover - they will be together. Claude can promise that much.

Dimitri moves himself up to follow, swinging his legs around the side of the bed and sitting up, watching as Claude steps into his pants. Claude can feel his eyes lingering for a moment, wistfully, as he covers up all of the bruises and marks that Dimitri has left on him.

They'll linger for days, at least. Not long enough. But Claude will have something to make him remember where Dimitri's mouth has been and he will think of Dimitri every time he feels the jolt of pain from brushing up against one of them. It's not enough. It will never be enough.

Hefting himself off of the bed with great effort, Dimitri begins to do the same, starts to shift himself up in earnest so that he can start putting his clothes on as well. The clothes for Claude's departure have been left out for him and he slides into them, reluctance in every movement.

“You say that,” he says, with a small smile, focused on the drawstrings of his trousers. “But when you return, you'll be a king. I've always known that. And you would no sooner abandon your people than I would mine.”

Despite the fact that Claude left Almyra long ago now, despite the fact that he got caught up in another war, Dimitri knows how much he loves his homeland, how much it aches in him to not be near it. He knows that Claude would never shirk his duty to his people - and Claude’s heart aches, too, at the knowledge of that.

Dimitri’s smile is sad. He doesn't meet Claude’s eyes.

“I've never lied to myself about what our possibilities are. But…” Part of him seems to relent as he reaches for his doublet and slides it over his head, mussing up his hair while he works at the ties. “...but I can be happy, just seeing you every once in awhile. When you visit. Or - I could visit. I've made my peace with that life, if you have.”

Claude dresses, and he listens to Dimitri, and then he crosses the short distance between them. He has ties to tie, a belt to fasten, a dagger to attach to it, but this is more important. He reaches up, straightening Dimitri's hair with gentle hands and the easy familiarity of a lover.

“I will win us more than that. Believe in me.”

He still doesn't want to - _can't_ make any concrete promises. But in Claude's mind, of course, it's decided. One way or another, he will return. One way or another, they will be together. Not for a few days here and there. Not for painful visits where they cling to each other in a desperate attempt to keep their hearts from breaking. Not just once in awhile or for a few visits here and there.

Claude has always been the sort of person to reach for the stars. The sort of person who believes that he can break down the borders between lands, that he can create a new world, that he can fight for peace in a war-torn land. Of course he believes he can do this. Of course he will fight for the man he loves, for the chance to have, if not a place he can belong - someone he can belong to.

He stretches up on his toes, pressing his lips to Dimitri's.

“Don't make peace with anything that doesn't make you happy. We can change this world, if only we try.”

What else can he say but that? It's what Claude believes, it's what he's always believed. It doesn't matter what forces are arrayed against you. There is always a way to win, if only you have the fortitude to find it.

He steps back, finishes dressing, though his eyes don't leave Dimitri.

“If I could ask for one thing while I'm gone -”

It was painful to see Dimitri so easily accept something that would make him unhappy, so easily accept that was the best he could get. It is painful now, to think of it.

“Don't let the desires of the living or the dead drag you down. Live for yourself, Dimitri, until I get back.”

“I…” Dimitri turns away then, finishes dressing under the weight of that request. Claude knows how the dead have haunted him, and Claude suspects that he still hears them, still wants to do right by them. To Dimitri, they are a reminder of where he's failed, of all the things he's done wrong, and they offer him a warning and a path to go down so that he doesn't misstep again.

Perhaps it’s egotistical, but Claude thinks he has helped Dimitri simply by being here, simply by staying close when it gets bad. When he’s gone - he doesn’t know if it’ll get worse again, without him there to help in those small ways.

Dimitri closes his eyes and shakes his head, finishing the final tie on his doublet and turning back toward Claude. “...I see. I'll consider it.”

It’s all that Claude can ask for. 

Dimitri lets out a wry smile as he reaches up to tie his eyepatch around the back of his head and twists to position it correctly, before reaching a hand out for him.

“I'll rouse the battalion and meet you in the courtyard, my love.”

Claude takes Dimitri's hand, steps in close. His heart is weak - all it takes is those words on Dimitri's lips, _my love_, to remind him how desperately he doesn't want to leave this man. How hard it is to walk away, how lonely he will be.

Claude has been lonely for most of his life, but now that he knows - really knows - how it feels to have someone who loves him, friends who he can trust, a place where he belongs, he isn't sure how he'll be able to handle letting all of that go. It helps to tell himself that it's just for now, that he'll be back, but even knowing that doesn't change the fact that there is a large part of him that doesn't want to give this up even temporarily.

But he has to. This is the path he chose, the future he's fought for. Giving up on it now would be betraying himself, betraying the lost little boy he once was.

He can't turn back now, as painful as leaving is.

Claude stretches up to kiss Dimitri, sweet but a little desperate. Once they leave this room he won't be able to do this again, won't be able to kiss Dimitri goodbye before he climbs into Hyacinth's saddle. He can't let Dimitri leave this room without one more kiss, one more demonstration of his enduring affection.

“Yes. I'll meet you there.”

He holds onto Dimitri for another moment, then lets go, stepping back, forcing himself to do it. The dagger at his belt is a weight that Claude knows he will quickly begin to find comforting, and he rests his hand on the hilt for just a moment.

“I love you.”

He says it quietly, simply. He says it because he needs to say it. Because maybe Dimitri needs to hear it.

Dimitri is moving toward the door, taking the initiative to leave instead of giving into what they both truly want and staying, pulling Claude into his arms, never letting him go. He lingers at the door when Claude speaks, turns again to look at him.

Claude looks, too. Dimitri is so handsome, tall and straight-backed and impossible not to want to touch, impossible for Claude to look at without wanting so much more. He tries to commit every line of Dimitri’s figure to his memory, tries to burn it in so deeply that he won’t forget no matter what might happen.

He will see Dimitri again. He _will_.

“I love you too,” Dimitri says, soft but committed. “I always will.”

Claude holds that in his heart as Dimitri leaves. He waits, finishes getting ready, and then he pauses.

He's probably spent more time in Dimitri's bedchamber than his own, since he spends every night possible with Dimitri. His own rooms are more a polite fiction than anything. This place is where he's passed his evenings, his midnights, his quiet mornings. They've had to be careful, of course, he's had to spend a certain amount of time in his own rooms to maintain the illusion, but that hardly seems to matter.

So he stops and he lets himself miss this place terribly, and then he leaves.

In the courtyard, Dimitri's battalion - Claude's battalion, now - waits, mounted and ready for the journey. Hyacinth is there, too, saddled and waiting, and those of Claude's friends who are in Fhirdiad: Lysithea, currently in the depths of untangling what research she can find on Those Who Slither's experiments. Marianne, visiting briefly to deliver some of House Edmund’s artisans to the court. Sylvain, who Claude passes the evenings playing chess with sometimes when Dimitri is away. Dedue, quiet and loyal at Dimitri's side.

Hilda will meet him at the Locket for a final farewell, a last taste of true friendship before he descends into the shifting sands that await him in Almyra. Lorenz will meet them there as well, surely with his own advice to give.

It is not a formal farewell, because Claude didn't want that, but he deeply appreciates that they have come to see him off. It is a reminder of what he's giving up, but also a reminder of what he'll have to come back to, what he can use to encourage himself while he's gone.

And of course, there is Dimitri.

Claude can't kiss him now, can't hold him, but he can look his fill. Dimitri, in the soft morning sunlight, standing before the battalion to see him off. Claude approaches, stands at a respectful distance.

It's a bit silly, really. Claude is fairly certain everyone in this courtyard except Dimitri's soldiers know of their affair. But appearances must be maintained.

“My king. I wish you well in my absence,” he says. And then, quieter: “I'll be back before you know it.”

Not true, he knows. They'll both feel the separation keenly. But he says it anyway, because it helps to say it.

Dimitri has become good at schooling his expression into one of impassivity, and so despite what he must be feeling, he stands firmly where he is. Claude knows him so well, though, well enough that he can see that Dimitri is keeping his jaw tight - too tight - and barely allowing himself to blink for fear of summoning tears. Their eyes meet, and Claude can see so much in them, so much that his heart feels like it might break.

He sees Dedue move one slight step closer, a subtle shift of the body that few would notice. Offering his support, a quiet comfort to his king and friend. Claude can be glad, at least, that Dimitri has people like Dedue by his side - faithful, kind, able to help him if it is needed. His presence does not take away any of Dimitri’s tension, his pain, but it allows Dimitri enough support that he is able to speak.

“Good luck in your travels, Claude.” Dimitri clears his throat, tries to gather what's left of his strength. This is hard, impossibly hard for both of them. “Until we meet again.”

Claude bows his head, only for a moment, and then he climbs into Hyacinth’s saddle. He raises an arm, signaling the battalion to rise into the sky, and then he rises as well, taking his position in the lead.

He tries not to look back at Dimitri, on the ground behind him. His heart already feels like it has cracked in two, and he knows that though he will have found his strength again by the time he arrives in Almyra, there’s a part of him that won’t heal until they see each other again. Until they can be together again.

He tries not to look, but he does, and there on the ground below - a small shape, growing smaller as they rise - is Dimitri. Even from this distance, Claude can see that he stands straight and tall, and that he is looking up. That he is watching Claude leave, watching until he can’t watch anymore, until they’re only small shapes against the sky.

Claude closes his eyes just for a moment, press that image into his mind, his heart, his soul. Then he looks away, because he must. He looks toward the horizon and he flies.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Fódlan, Dimitri rebuilds his homeland. In Almyra, Claude fights for the throne.

It doesn't take that long to get from place to place via wyvern. While not as swift as pegasi, they are quite fast, and their wings mean that obstacles are easily bypassed. In times of war, it was more dangerous - one stray arrow might ruin a journey and end a life, ambushes had to be avoided, camps set up carefully.

But now Fódlan is at peace. Now Claude and his battalion pass through previously war-torn lands in relatively safety - few bandits have the strength necessary to challenge a battalion of wyvern riders, particularly those in the king's colors. Claude has traveled to quite a few places since the end of the war, but he always has his eyes open. He takes note of small things - villages that could use more help rebuilding, areas of the route plagued by bandits who dare not show their faces, rivers nearly dammed by debris that will be a problem at the next spring's thaw. He sends a flier ahead, always, to announce to the local lords that he will be passing through and - more importantly - to inform them of what he's seen.

The Alliance has formally been dissolved, now a part of a united Fódlan, but Claude knows that a certain amount of loyalty will remain for years yet. Not all of the Leicester lords loved him, but they all welcome him still, and allow him to pass through their lands with grace.

With no fighting to fear, no need to go slowly, Claude reaches Fódlan's Locket before he's entirely ready. It's not that he wants to waste time - quite the opposite - it's more that he is not looking forward to the moment that he must leave this all behind. The moment when he ceases being Duke Riegan, the tactician who defeat Emperor Edelgard, who stands at the side of the King, who commands respect and has the trust of many, and becomes simply Claude, the son of the King of Almyra, distrusted and unwanted.

There are so many things he loves about his homeland. So many things he wants to do for the place he loves, the people he loves. But he's built a life for himself here, he's fought and survived and carved out a place where he almost feels like he belongs. And now he's giving that up, walking back into a land that has sometimes wanted him dead.

But then, wasn't that the case with Fódlan, too? He's done it before. He will do it now.

He pauses for a few days at the Locket. Hilda and Lorenz meet him there, a last moment with two of his dear friends. Lorenz, naturally, expressing his concern at Claude's decision to leave with a certain haughtiness - though by now Claude can see past it, can understand that Lorenz is simply worried about him. Hilda laughs it off and teases him for all the hard work he's going to have to put in, but he can see the concern in her eyes, too. It's - oddly comforting to know that he has friends who care for him like this, friends who will think of him while he's gone.

Afterwards, when Lorenz has gone to bed, Hilda asks casually, "And how is the king taking it?"

Claude doesn't know what to say to that. He's been apart from Dimitri for longer than this short journey - but it will only get longer. Before, he'd always known they would be reunited quickly, but now? Now he can't be sure. He can't rush through this, he can't force it to happen, no matter how much he might miss the man he loves.

He smiles at Hilda, though he knows she can see through it, and says, "We both knew this would happen eventually." It's not really an answer, and she raises her eyebrows at him, but he's sure she expected nothing less.

"I wasn't sure about him at first," she says, taking his arm as they walk back to their rooms, "but I know you’re head over heels, for whatever reason. When I'm in Fhirdiad, I'll check in on him for you. You'll owe me though!"

Claude can't quite suppress a grin at the idea of Hilda checking in on Dimitri. They've never exactly been friends - they've never had a chance to become friends. But Hilda is the person he trusted first, here in this land he's grown fond of, and the one he's trusted longest. He knows also, that she'll be honest - she'll tell him if Dimitri desperately needs him. "But I'm already so deep in debt to you!"

They both laugh and they stay up late talking, and in the morning parting is difficult. Of course it is. But he has to go, and so he dresses his men in his own colors - golds and browns- and leads them across Fódlan's throat and into Almyra.

None of them have been there before, of course. None of them have heard anything of it but rumors and old hatred, and Claude can see that most of them don't know what to expect. Some are frightened, some on edge, but not all. Others seem curious, interested, looking around with open eyes. He is glad to see it. He hopes, eventually, to win them all over.

On their journey across the plains, Claude gets to know his battalion. He takes meals with them, speaks with them. He listens to them, to their fears and their hopes, and he does his best to win their loyalty. He knows that he will need it. He also tells them Almyran folktales, and teaches some of them a few words of Almyran, basic phrases that they may need. He learns which of them have hidden skills, which he might use for more dangerous tasks that might come up.

He knows, after all, that winning the throne will not be easy.

A border patrol approaches them the first night, and Claude flies out to meet them himself. After that, they are not approached. Sometimes they see the wings of wyverns not so far off, pacing them across the plains. Sometimes they see men on horses. Sometimes they see small settlements. Claude avoids them all, and in turn they avoid him. He has announced himself, and though they are watched with suspicion - he is bringing foreign troops, after all - he is still the prince, and will be allowed to present himself to the king unaccosted.

He would be lying if he said this return doesn't affect him. That first sunrise over the plains nearly brings him to tears, and only long years of practice ensure that none of his men see it. His feet on Almyran ground, he begins to dream of everything from his childhood: the food, the music, the dancing, the fighting. The language in his ears, so different from the words of Fódlan. It has been so long and he had pushed it all from his mind, save when Nader came to help him in the war, bringing a few small things that brought back memories.

But now he is here, and it's all coming back.

They reach Estakhr in the early afternoon of a bright, sunny day. A troop of wyvern riders, clad in royal colors, meets them at the gate and escorts them through the streets. Claude's battalion knows this isn't the time to gawk and look about - they are being paraded before the citizens of Almyra's capital city, and they are the first men from Fódlan to walk these streets in... Claude doesn't know how long.

Not, of course, the first _people_ from Fódlan, however.

His battalion waits at the palace steps, looking up at the glittering building, the colors inlaid upon its pale stones. A work of art, equal or better than anything Fódlan has to offer. Claude walks up the steps, taking his time. He is wearing Fódlan garb, arriving with Fódlan soldiers, and he knows how it will look. It's calculated. He has plans already, plans and schemes and, above all else, hopes.

At the top of the stairs, he bows, an elaborate thing of careful courtesy.

And then he looks up at his father, tall and strong and Almyran down to his bones, a heavy gold crown on his brow. Next to him, standing a step back, is his mother - as pale as any Fódlan woman, with green eyes to match his own. Shorter than his father, slimmer, lighter, like her son. But clad in warrior's clothing, because she fought for her place here, and she won it.

"Father, mother," he says, and bows his head. "I'm home."

_

Dimitri keeps himself busy.

It's not difficult. He has a mountain of work to do after all, and more things to take care of everywhere he looks. It's quite possible that he could work nonstop until he died of old age and it would still not be done. He tries to delegate, tries to find adequate help so that the important things are taken care of, but for now it's easier for him to thrust himself into his work and try not to think about anything else.

He takes his meals in his rooms, plans meetings, watches as the candles sputter out - _when he lit that candle, Claude was here_. He eventually changes his sheets that smell like Claude, runs out of Claude's scented soaps in the bathroom and has to use his own again. Claude's room is cleaned and emptied for the next royal guest to host, the various small objects and books and clothing he left behind are moved into Dimitri's own, where he shelves them among his things, tucks them into his desk, hangs them in his closet.

Slowly, in inches, Claude fades from his life.

Dimitri writes him. He's not very good at writing letters like this, particularly not ones that could possibly be intercepted, and so they're full of short sentences, informative, but... sweet, in their own way.

He writes things like: _How are you? I am fine. I had a meeting today. You left your book on the maps of Sreng behind but I will hold onto it for you. It snowed in the mountains last week. The cold is starting to set in. I hope you are keeping warm._

They're interspersed with soft little phrases: _I saw a sparrow that reminded me of you. I watched the sunset and wondered if you saw it too. I think about how small the world is, sometimes, and it comforts me to know that you aren't very far away at all._ All of it, between every sentence is an unwritten: _I love you, I love you, I love you._

He can't write often - Claude getting too many messengers from him would look suspicious - so he tries to make up for it in the length of his letters and the small things he includes, like some sweets from Mercedes, a pin with a silver stag on it, that sort of thing.

Otherwise, he tries not to think too much about it because it'll tear him apart if he lets himself fall into grief. He tries to keep busy. He goes to bed alone every night and stares at the ceiling until sleep takes him and tries not to miss Claude's hands, his smile, or the weight of him in his arms. There's nothing else to do, really.

_

Parts of Almyra didn't want him to come back. Claude knew that, has known that for a very long time, but always knew he would be returning anyway. He will win them over, or he will win enough of them over that it won't matter. He is used to being hated, distrusted, unwanted.

His parents, however, are pleased that he's returned.

He meets with them privately, after he has settled in and after Hyacinth has been taken by the keepers to be fussed over and pampered. His battalion must be housed as well and there is space for them - the palace, after all, knew that Claude was on his way, and knew who traveled alongside him. He sees that their lodgings are adequate, that they are treated as guests rather than with obvious distrust, and then he washes up and goes to see his parents.

In private, they are less the king and his consort, and more Claude's parents. His mother embraces him, holding him close, telling him how much he has grown. His father embraces him as well, and laughs over how Claude reflects his mother - slim and quick, rather than large and imposing like himself. They take coffee rather than tea, sweet and dark, and there is a platter of delicacies that Claude has not seen since he left Almyra. It takes some self-control to keep from stuffing himself.

They have heard some of what has happened in Fódlan. This is their neighbor, after all, their ancient enemy, and not all countries are so foolishly insular as Fódlan is. Their intelligence is surprisingly good, helped by Nader's own presence through much of the war. It seems he returned with glowing praise for Claude's strategic mind and strength in battle.

It will help, Claude thinks. Nader is legendary.

They tell him of what has passed in the years he's been gone. Cousins who have wed, lords who have died, children born and lands passed from one pair of hands to another. It's been so long that Claude sometimes has to struggle to remember who is who, and he knows that will have to change quickly. To win this land, he must know it as well as if it is a part of him, as well as he grew to know the Alliance and the delicate bonds of love and hatred that kept it together.

"So," his father says finally, when the coffee has been drunk and the stories told and they're all leaning back against cushions, comfortable and full, "do I need to ask what has prompted this return?"

_Probably not_, Claude thinks. Surely he knows, surely his mother knows. Surely everyone who is aware of his arrival has a feeling about what's to come. He is the only son of the King of Almyra, and he has returned with a battalion and a reputation for strategic genius and bravery in battle. This will be a surprise to few, though he is sure there are some who are hoping greatly that he has returned for some other reason.

"I want the throne," he says plainly, smiling. "It's about time, I think."

His father laughs, and he can see traces of amusement on his mother's face as well, though tinged with worry. "I'm about ready to step down," King Ardashir says, "spend my twilight years riding and drinking and growing foolish. But you know it won't be easy. They've never much liked you."

_Not all of them_, Claude wants to say, childishly. Nader had come when he asked, and though Claude thinks it was more on a whim than anything, by the end of the war he had looked at Claude with true respect in his eyes. But he doesn't say it. He loves his parents, and they love him, but it has been many long years since he could be truly vulnerable in front of them.

"I know," he says instead. "I'm not worried." And he smiles, as if it will be nothing, as if he has all of Almyra in the palm of his hand already.

His father laughs, and slaps his thigh, and says that he looks forward to seeing Claude's strength. His mother smiles like she's proud of him, and pours more coffee, and they talk a little about Claude's plans.

Afterwards, as Claude is heading to his own room, she catches his arm and pulls him aside. Her hand comes up to touch his ear where an earring once hung - a piece of jewelry that is now safe with Dimitri. "Where have you lost your earring?"

"It's not lost," Claude says. It was a gift, long ago, a mark of belonging. Matching earrings hang in his mother's ear, his father's. A thing not to be carelessly lost or given away, and they both know that. "Someone is taking care of it for me."

"Hmm," she says, and her green eyes narrow. She is more observant than his father - she's had to be. To survive in the Almyran court, no one with Fódlan blood can be foolish or blind. "And where did you get this lovely dagger?" She doesn't touch it, only looks at the dagger at Claude's waist, and his smile grows.

"A gift," he says, and places his hand upon the pommel.

"A fine one," she says, with the hint of a smile. "A proper courting gift."

Claude laughs, and he wants to tell her everything about Dimitri, but he doesn't. That has to wait until he's secure, until he's certain of victory, until he has the crown in his hands and can move on to the next part of his plan. Until then, anything about Dimitri will only expose a vulnerability in his armor, a weak spot that he cannot afford.

So he says nothing, and she kisses his cheek, and they go their separate ways. Claude has plans to make, schemes to put in motion. He must reach out to those here who have been and will be his allies, determine the strength of those he knows are his enemies, and figure out where everyone else stands.

In Almyra, after all, the throne is not simply passed down from father to son. It is won by strength. Whoever holds the loyalty of most of the lords, and consequently their sworn forces and their strength in battle, sits upon the throne. For many years, that has been King Ardashir, and none have challenged him. But now he will announce that he is stepping down, and whoever can claim the loyalty of the lords, first and strongest, will ascend after him.

In the past, that has often been a child of the current king - already positioned to have the best of training, to grow up learning all the strings and pulleys of politics, the strength and weaknesses of the Almyran lords. Kingship has often passed from father to son or from mother to daughter. But not always.

Claude knows that if he had been born full-blooded Almyran there would be little question of his victory. There would likely be other challengers, but his father has been a good king, a strong one, and Claude would easily take up the alliances and loyalties that have been given to the current king. But he is not. His Fódlan blood means that, though some of his father's allies will support him, others will not. They will support one of his many cousins, or one of the stronger unrelated lords who believe they can win enough power to take the throne.

It won't be easy. But he has Nader, he has the whispered stories spread about his victories in Fódlan. He has his own strength, his wits, which have kept him alive this long. He has Dimitri's battalion, his battalion, who will serve him faithfully and act as a living example of inter-country unity.

It's not impossible, but he has plans to make, wheels to set in motion.

First, though, he enters his rooms - the same ones he had as a child, so familiar and so strange, now - and sits at his low desk. Before everything, he will write Dimitri a letter. It won't fill the emptiness in his heart, but it will help.

_

The letter, when he gets it, is read dozens of times until Dimitri has it more or less memorized. Claude hasn't forgotten about him, he's alright, he's at home, and while Dimitri doesn't know how much he can trust the exact contents of it, the implication is that Claude is okay. He cherishes knowing that and it spurs him on through the rest of the week, Claude's words like a voice in his memory.

He works harder. With Kleiman implicated in the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri strips the noble house of its power and decrees that the lands are to be restored to the people of Duscur. There is an uprising, as expected, but it is crushed easily. Kleiman and his men are imprisoned and interrogated, and in a now-rare showing of rage, Dimitri has them hanged for their crimes. Not many people cry over that one.

The Duscur decree is unpopular but Dimitri will hear no detriments to it. He funnels money from the treasury to rebuild, always with Dedue's words in his ear, always taking his advice, doing what he recommends. They build orphanages, churches for the Duscur gods, schools. Money goes elsewhere, to rebuilding the villages crushed by Nemesis, and still elsewhere, to the ruined sections of Fhirdiad and Enbarr. He bleeds the Kingdom dry to rebuild and dips into the coffers of the former Empire.

It's action. It's _necessary_, and the money that fills the tradesman's pockets go on to line the pockets of innkeepers, which lines the pockets of gardeners and servers, which goes back in taxes while raising morale. The economy dips, then flourishes as people have homes to live in again, land to call their own once more, and Dedue looks out over the first village that they've completed in the new Duscur and his lip trembles, just barely.

"...thank you," he tells Dimitri, who shakes his head.

"No. This is because of you." He tells it to Dedue in response, smiling as a small group crests the hill nearby. He can't make out their faces but there are four of them, with two on horseback and heavy saddlebags. Their hair is white like Dedue's, and when they ride closer, curious at the village, Dimitri recognizes that they can't be much older than fifteen or so.

He exhales a shaky breath, closes his eyes and thinks of Claude, and lets go.

"You should stay here," Dimitri offers softly. Dedue turns back to him, surprised, but before he can speak, Dimitri continues, "they need someone to take care of them. To show them how things are done and to remind them of where they come from. I know no one more suited to the task."

There's a pause, and Dimitri does not look at Dedue because he knows that if he does, the tears in his eye will spill over. Dedue must think the same, because all he does is wrap an arm around Dimitri's shoulders for a sideways hug and lets out a soft sigh.

"I'll visit you," he promises.

Dimitri will hold him to that.

He writes to Claude about it when he's home, about letting go and about how everyone seems to be finding their own paths. The loss of Dedue by his side hits him harder than he thought it might have and without his gentle guidance by his side, Dimitri finds that he has to learn to stand alone all over again. He manages. He forges ahead, and he tries not to let the loneliness eat away at him.

Ser Galatea asks him again about marrying Ingrid and she storms off, incensed. When Dimitri follows her, she gets angry, her face red and hot with embarrassment.

"I can't do it," she tells him, her teeth clenched tight, "I can't sit here while he throws me at every bachelor in the Kingdom. I need to get away, just for a little while."

Dimitri watches her for a moment, thoughtful, contemplative, before he smiles. When Ingrid looks confused, he just shrugs, before asking:

"Have you ever thought about visiting Almyra?"

_

Ingrid arrives bearing a letter from Dimitri as Claude's plans are really starting to materialize. He's secured open support from all those who he knew would take little coaxing - Nader, of course, plus a few other lords who are close to his father and saw him grow up, and a few more who have become good friends of his mother, who no longer believe the things said about those from Fódlan. They will be his core and the base of his strength, but while it's a start, it's nowhere near enough to win the throne. Not when he can see the other contenders making their own moves as well.

There are two more moderate factions, one lead by a cousin of his and one by a lord from the desert. Claude is pleased with this, because for the moment they are splitting the support of the lords who wish to maintain their current course: trade with other lands, but no true relations with Fódlan. Neither of them has more support than the other, and from where he's standing it's all coming down to personality. So long as neither of them wins all the supporters of the other, neither of them has enough strength to claim the throne, and Claude has a chance to win some of them to his cause instead.

And then there is Anvari. He rules one of the border regions, and his people have a long history of skirmishes and all-out war with Fódlan. He calls for another war, he wishes to take advantage of the state that Fódlan is currently in - recovering from their own war, and in his eyes ripe for conquest. Claude does not think it would be as easy as he seems to believe, but it doesn't really matter - there are enough people in Almyra wishing for war that he has a solid base of supporters. He openly disdains Claude, and King Ardashir's wife, and everything else that may come from Fódlan.

Claude is keeping an eye on him.

But it's now that he must begin winning over those lords who have not pledged their support yet. He's making plans, doing his research, when Ingrid arrives.

They were never close friends, but Claude has always been fond of her, so upright and proper and full of tightly-leashed fire. She's not unlike Dimitri in that way, and more than that, she's a breathing reminder of everything he holds close to his heart, everything he had to leave behind. He encouraged his battalion to acclimate - eat Almyran food, wear Almyran clothing if they wish, learn the customs and make friends - and if anything they've done it too well. There's a part of Claude that misses the propriety of Fhirdiad, the careful taking of tea and the polite customs. They were charming, even if most of the time he willfully flouted it all and did exactly as he liked.

And now Ingrid is here, a reminder of all of that, carrying a letter from Dimitri. Claude welcomes her, reads the letter while she's settling in. His heart aches for Dimitri, because while Claude can feel nothing but joy reading of Dedue's success, he knows very well the sting of loneliness. They all must find their own paths, now that the war is over, but - he does not want Dimitri to be alone because of it. With him gone, and Dedue, and now Ingrid staying in Almyra for a time, it will be difficult for him.

More practically, he's a bit concerned about Dimitri having no one to reign in his occasional temper except for Felix, which would be a bit like throwing black powder on a fire. But Sylvain is still in Fhirdiad regularly, as is Mercedes, and Claude knows that Ashe is doing his job as well. He tries not to worry.

He finds Ingrid rooms and offers her welcome, introduces her to his parents, acquaints her with the battalion. He's interested to see how she adjusts to Almyra - and even more interested to see how Almyra accepts her, strong and fierce and so ready to prove herself.

As it turns out, it isn't long until he's glad that she came.

Claude and his battalion travel to the eastern plains, the far side of Almyra, to court the favor of the strongest lord there. Eyota is a woman only a handful of years older than Claude, but she's won the respect and deference of most of the eastern lords thanks to her bravery in battle. The eastern lands believe the greatest show of skill is to touch an enemy in battle without causing them harm or receiving harm yourself, and Eyota's courage and strength on wyvernback has won her that honor more times than Claude can keep track of. If he wins her favor, he will win more than a few of the eastern plains lords along with it.

Claude spends much of the visit meeting with Eyota, explaining his vision, his plans. The eastern lords have little contact with anything from Fódlan, and because of that they know only rumors - mostly unflattering. But for the same reason, they have no personal biases, no long history of war with the Alliance. Eyota is interested, is not averse to the idea - but Claude knows his cousin has met with her, too, knows that her favor is being courted by others.

Naturally, he has a scheme in place that he hopes will tip the scales in his favor. They've come just in time to celebrate the turning of the seasons, celebrate summer as it turns into winter, and Claude knows there is a festival, a celebration to mark the change that has evolved over the years into a great display. It's where artisans show off their crafts, where warriors show their skill in brave displays of fighting and flying, it's nights of carousing where matches are made and new patrons found.

And when he's done his best with his words and his charm, when Eyota is carefully walking the knife's edge, clearly deciding who to throw her support behind, the festival begins.

And Claude sets his battalion loose, telling them to show their skill, show all the Almyrans what people from Fódlan can truly do.

They acquit themselves well. They are all skilled wyvern riders, the best of them able to hold their own against Eyota's warriors in contests of speed and fancy flying. Others join the axe-throwing competition, or display their skill with lances. One even enters his delicately-beaded jewelry in an artisan's contest, and places surprisingly well. Claude needs to do nothing but encourage them, and he sees the scoffs of his countrymen turn to guarded interest.

He doesn't need to encourage them to take part in the drinking, in the feasts that come with nightfall. By now they know he would prefer they enjoy themselves, prefer they build bonds and make friends, and if they make a few enemies along the way - that's fine, too. Diplomacy in Almyra is different, a fierce rivalry can be just as strong a bond as a deep friendship.

He is pleased by all of it, but the crowning moment comes on the final day.

Claude wins the archery competition. That's not the pleasing part - he would have been disappointed in himself if he lost, but though he appreciates the acclaim, it will change fewer minds than what comes after.

Afterward, Eyota claps him on the shoulder, congratulates him, and says, "I hear you're handy on that white wyvern of yours, as well. Care to race me?" Her brown eyes glitter, her sharp smile dangerous.

"I could give you a race," says Claude, and smiles, "but tell me. Have you ever raced a pegasus?"

Her eyebrows raise. Pegasi are vanishingly rare in Almyra, and where they do live, they are wild. Almyra has a long tradition of wyvern riders, but no pegasus riders. But she has heard of them, Claude can tell.

"Let me show you," Claude says, "what a pegasus rider from Fódlan can do."

Ingrid understands when he asks her. She's no fool. It doesn't matter whether Claude can acquit himself well against Eyota or not - it would impress her, certainly, but it wouldn't win her over. But a woman from Fódlan, a pegasus rider, an obvious foreigner from the land Claude wishes to reach out to? To race her, to even come close to matching a flier like Eyota - now that would go a long way to proving Claude's wishes are worthwhile.

And Ingrid lives up to his expectations. She flies like she was born on pegasus-back, leading her mount through sharp twists and turns that would be impossibly difficult for a wyvern. She matches Eyota for speed, beats her at dexerity, and only loses by a hair because her pegasus' stamina cannot quite match that of a wyvern. It flags at the end, allowing Eyota to take the lead, but until that moment no one could say who would win.

If it were anyone else, Claude might think Ingrid had lost on purpose, so as not to offend their host, but he knows her well enough by now to know that she has far too much pride to do such a thing. Eyota seems to know as well, and after the race she clasps Ingrid's arm like a treasured friend, pours Ingrid's wine herself, and they spend the night talking of flying. Claude has never seen Ingrid's face so bright.

The next day, Eyota pledges her support to him, and Claude returns to Estakhr with his claim on the throne growing stronger every day.

_

Without Claude and without Dedue, Dimitri flounders for awhile. He buries himself in his work, stares down at documents and maps on his desk until long after the sun has set. He curls in his too-large bed and his too-large room and hears _they were relieved to finally be rid of you_. He rolls over and lights a candle and returns to his documents.

Day in, day out. He can't exchange too many letters with Claude without drawing attention, but the lack of information gnaws at him. At least Dedue is flourishing in his settlement, conferring with his peers to discuss a different form of government and tentatively reaching out to the Kingdom with open hands. Dimitri does all he can to help foster goodwill between the two nations and sometimes it's enough - sometimes it isn't. Skirmishes break out at the borders, as members of the former Kingdom who were displaced by the new decree try to reclaim their homes.

_You've ruined it all_, he hears, and grits it away as he brings Felix with him to the border, tries to gather all those affected by the loss of their homes, tries to - find somewhere to put them, listens to each of their complaints and allocates land where appropriate: some in the former Empire, some in the former Alliance. They still aren't happy. They spit his name as they leave the court and Dimitri weathers it, his brow heavy.

Felix watches him and scoffs. Dimitri turns back to look at him, guarded.

"You can't fix everything for everyone," he hisses, his narrow eyes fixed on him from over his folded arms. Distant, closed off.

"I don't want to hear it," Dimitri shoots back, stalking past him, but Felix grabs at his shoulder, stopping him.

"Did you think this was going to be easy?" he asks, his tone almost mocking, "you thought you could just come in here and have everyone fall into line around you? Pathetic. I thought Claude would have warned you about that, given all the time he's spent turning you into his pupp-"

Dimitri shoves at him, hard, and Felix stumbles backward until he hits the wall. His eyes flash, as if victorious, and Dimitri wants to close the distance again, wants very much to hit him for what he's said, or to dismiss him, or to send him back to his stupid holdings and never have to suffer him again, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a deep breath in through his nose and thinks about soft sheets, dark hair, and Claude just barely beginning to wake, the flutter of his eyelashes catching in the sunlight.

He thinks about how Claude would look at this. What Claude would say. He thinks - if he is Claude's puppet, then he's fine with that. He's always been fine with that, and he has no shame for it.

"What are you trying to do?" he finally asks, his voice hushed. "You wanted me to be king - I'm king. You wanted me to be honest about who I am - I was. Are you trying to... needle me until some monster falls out? It won't happen. I'm doing all that I can with what I have and I..." Dimitri's voice cracks and he tightens his jaw, still feeling the frustration of earlier, but he forces it back down, forces back the voice that says _kill him_, and refocuses.

"...I need a friend. Not someone who puts on a hateful act to stop himself from caring. If you can't do that, I'll send for someone else, but tell me now."

Felix stares at him, all traces of triumph vanished from his expression. The silence stretches on into a river between them, and finally, Felix breaks it with the sound of his footsteps, heels clicking on the floor as he leaves without another word.

But he's there the next day, for the next set of displaced commoners. He's silent but watchful, making his presence felt, and when the last one leaves and Dimitri rests his head in his hands from the stress and the sleeplessness and the guilt, Felix's hand touches his shoulder in an awkward and cold motion. Dimitri can feel the brief tightening of his fingers through his gloves and he says nothing and neither does Felix. He leaves then, without another word, but somehow, Dimitri doesn't feel quite as alone anymore.

The feeling persists back through when Ingrid returns from Almyra, her hair lighter from the excessive sun, a grin on her face as she regales him with stories of Claude, of Almyra - how beautiful it is, how interesting all of the customs and the food is, and when she babbles on and on about the wyvern riders, about one wyvern rider in particular, Dimitri arches his brow.

"It's - it isn't like that," she laughs, flushing because it very much _is_, and instead takes a deep breath and resettles herself. "Anyway, Claude told me to give this to you."

It's a letter, and it's - an embrace, Ingrid's small arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, pulling him in close. They've never really hugged before and Dimitri blinks in surprise before returning the gesture.

"Also," she says, "he can't put it in his letters, but he loves you. You know that, right?"

He does. No matter what the shadows whisper to him, that is what he holds onto, late at night when no one else is awake. Claude loves him. He has to. Dimitri wouldn't be standing, wouldn't be alive right now if Claude didn't love him. His own heart beating is evidence of that. His sanity, tenuous as it is on his bad days, is evidence that on that day in the throne room, with Edelgard beside him, Claude kissed him and kept him grounded.

He knows that. He does.

"But - hey," Ingrid says again, the corner of her mouth quirking up, "let me know when you want to reply to that letter. I'll fly it out for you again... it's no bother, I promise."

Dimitri is sure that it isn't. He works on a response straight away, something long and detailed, explaining all of the difficulties that have been coming with reestablishing Duscur, the strange way Ingrid has acted - and he blames that solely on Claude - and how the former Alliance and Claude's former friends seem to be holding up, from his vantage over the mountains. It's a lot and it takes him awhile to write and perfect and again, they can't exchange letters often so he holds onto it for awhile.

But eventually, he sends it back, with Ingrid as she'd requested. When she takes off, he watches her, envious and full of longing.

_

Claude is no maiden waiting in a tower for Dimitri's letters, he cannot live and breathe for word from his lover. He has work, hard work, dangerous work to do. But even so, every letter from Dimitri fills his heart, his thoughts. In Almyra, he cannot lose his way for a moment, but when he can steal a tiny bit of space here and there to think of what he left behind - it only makes his desire for victory keener.

And he is doing well. He can say that now, after months of careful political maneuvering, private conversations and promises, displays of strength and goodwill. Nader supports him, and has swayed even some of the warriors at the border to Claude's cause. Eyota supports him, and with her came most of her allies from the eastern plains. With two of the fiercest warriors in Almyra backing him, Claude's position has only grown more secure.

He's peeled away some of those who backed his cousin - the ones who did so mainly because they wanted someone from his family line but were not sure Claude was the best choice. His displays of his battalion's strength and courage have won the regard of others, those who only knew of Fódlan as a country of insular cowards now seeing that they have bravery no different than Almyrans. His base is growing, and Claude knows soon it will be time to stake his claim. He's promised change, he's promised open borders and a treaty with Fódlan, and more and more of his countrymen are beginning to agree.

So things are at a delicate point when Ingrid returns, a letter from Dimitri in her hands. Claude embraces her, they drink tea and she tells him what she's seen in Fhirdiad, how Dimitri is doing, and Claude allows himself to miss Dimitri. Terribly, achingly. But he can't linger on it, and so he sends Ingrid off - to rest, presumably, though Claude knows that she's also brought some Fhirdiad delicacies Eyota had been interested in, so it's likely she'll head there instead.

He settles in to write a letter, then. Not to Dimitri, it's too soon for that, they ought to be careful - though Claude has spent some of his late nights translating Almyran poetry, intending to enclose it in his next letter to his distant lover. No, he writes to Marianne, after much thought.

Dedue is in Duscur, and Ingrid is here. Sylvain spends more time on the Sreng border, calming tensions there. Ashe has other concerns, keeping the network of spies Claude left him working steadily. Mercedes and Annette are both in Fhirdiad from time to time, but they are occupied with rebuilding as well. Who does Dimitri have except Felix? Claude has already worried over how that might wear on his mind. For all that Felix is deeply loyal, he is also harsh and sharp-edged, with little sympathy for Dimitri's struggles. Claude can't hate him for it - after all, Felix carries his own heavy burdens, as well.

But he doesn't like the idea of Dimitri having no one he can speak to. He doesn't like the idea of Dimitri lonely. Claude knows what that feels like, knows it all too well.

And so he writes to Marianne, and asks if she's able to go to Fhirdiad. Margrave Edmund has a right to sit on the king's council, but has been occupied with his own lands - perhaps Marianne could take his place, at least for a little while? He leaves his obvious plea - _please, make sure Dimitri is all right_ \- out of the letter, but he thinks she'll understand anyway. It's something. If Claude can't be there, at least he can know that someone he trusts is, someone who might understand some of the burden Dimitri carries.

He thinks about it late into the night, lying in his bed, long after he's blown out the candles. He thinks about sleeping with Dimitri in his arms, the warmth of the bed they shared, Dimitri's body fitting against his own in a way he'd never imagined. He thinks about slipping into Dimitri's room late at night, unnoticed, waking Dimitri only long enough to climb into bed next to him and rest his head against Dimitri's shoulder.

He misses it so very much.

It's because of this - his thoughts of Dimitri - that Claude is awake when a dark shape slips in through his window. He shouldn't be. It's closer to dawn than sundown, and he put out all the lights hours ago.

He barely moves, sliding his hand beneath his pillow to grasp the hilt of the dagger Dimitri gave him, the dagger he places there every night once he's removed it from his belt. He catches hold of it just in time - this assassin is businesslike, uninterested in anything but their target, with no pause to inspect the documents on his desk or indulge in petty thievery. Their knife slices through the night, and Claude kicks his thin blanket up and at the figure in one swift movement.

Dagger in his hand, he launches himself from his bed. Their struggle is silent, no more than soft gasps of effort and pain, and it's over quickly. The assassin's knife slices past his cheek, Claude ducking away just in time, wary of a possible poisoned blade. He has antidotes to most poisons tucked away in a chest beneath his bed, but there's no reason to be careless. He strikes out with his foot and the assassin stumbles, twisting to catch themselves.

Claude takes the opening, plunging his dagger into the assassin's throat. He does not hesitate, though he feels the blood soaking his hand - he pulls it out and jumps back, letting the assassin's dying blow cut through the air between them.

And then they fall to the ground and bleed out on Claude's carpets, and he tries to catch his breath, his heart beating hard in his chest, covered in someone else's blood.

It's been an awfully long time since someone has tried to kill him.

In the end, after the guards are called and Claude has been checked for injuries and the assassin's body has been inspected, he can't be certain who sent them. A skilled assassin who slipped past the guards with no disturbance, if Claude had been sleeping he is fairly sure he'd be dead now. They left no trace of their employer, no trace of their own identity except their body - which no one is willing to identify.

Claude cleans the dagger, slides it back on to his belt, and sets out to make the most of this. With no clear origin, they mean for him to suspect everyone. They mean for him to be afraid, to collapse under the weight of it. Could it be his cousin, their family bonds already frail? The other moderate lord, who he has stolen supporters from? Anvari, who openly hates him?

But all Claude can think is: _do they think this is the first time someone has tried to assassinate me?_

He's older now. He will not give into fear. Since no one knows where the assassin has come from, no one will claim them - that just means they are another tool for Claude to use.

And so he puts quiet words in the right ears, spreads rumors, and before long it's common knowledge: Anvari fears Claude's dream of a treaty between Almyra and Fódlan. Anvari fears Claude's strength, and sent a killer, and even that was not enough to destroy Claude. Anvari is cracking at the edges, if he is resorting to such actions.

It might even be true. Claude doesn't particularly care if it is. All he cares is that Anvari is his strongest opponent, the one closest to being able to shake his claim on the throne. And with these rumors, that begins to crumble.

His strongest supporters will never change their allegiances, but there are plenty who followed him because of his strength, because of his promises, because they believed he could win and grant them position, or lands, or riches. Now, as that begins to seem uncertain, those followers begin to slip away. Some turn neutral, some pledge themselves to Claude's cousin or the desert lord. Some few, perhaps keener than the others or perhaps already questioning even before this, pledge themselves to Claude.

And, bit by bit, things fall into place.

_

Marianne's travel is announced, of course, and it's not odd that she would want to visit Fhirdiad, although Dimitri isn't sure why. There's no pressing former-Alliance territory matters to attend to and no pressing issues that require her attendance. But Dimitri greets her all the same, reaching out a hand to steady her as she delicately steps out of her carriage, her gown thick and insulated against the frigid Faerghus winter.

He tells her that the council meetings won't happen for three days or more and offers to show her around the city once she's settled in, should it please her. Marianne agrees and Dimitri makes his leave to allow her to settle in and get something to eat after her long ride through the mountains. He spends the night doing more paperwork, trying to allocate more land and resources toward the efforts of his rebuilding. It doesn't happen easily and Dimitri is confronted with the difficulties of needing more land for the displaced people and the people whose homes were destroyed by the war - but having none left to allocate without taking it from someone else.

There's negotiations to be made, adjustments to noble holdings which means more discussions on taxation, deals that can be made, fertile land here for larger amounts of rocky land there.

He works late into the night and falls asleep with his head buried in his arms on his desk. Claude comes to him then with soft footsteps behind him and drapes a blanket over his shoulders. He presses a kiss to Dimitri's cheek and says '_you really work too hard, you know... I'll be in bed when you're done_.'

Dimitri blinks and straightens up, looks to the bed and finds it made, untouched. There's nothing around his shoulders. Claude is still gone.

The following day, he shows Marianne the royal library, guides her through aisles with bookshelves as tall as two men put together and stretching on far enough that it's clear that it's impossible to read this much in an entire lifetime. Marianne seems enthralled by it, her fingers sliding along the covers and titles as she inspects each one.

"Claude loved it here," he muses fondly, his dream - vision? - still fresh in his mind as he paces idly around the shelves. "Myself... I think I have too many memories of a stern tutor barking questions at me over in that corner to really find peace in this place."

Dimitri points to a seating area with a few small desks, where he'd taken lessons in diplomacy and treatises and the like as a child. Marianne merely smiles in amusement at the joke of sorts, and pulls out one of the books to glance through.

"Do you know how he's doing?" she asks idly, though her eyes flick upward toward him for his reaction, and Dimitri shakes his head with a frown.

"No."

It's the only answer he gives. He leads her through the rest of the library, and then to the ramparts outside to watch the early sunset from the gleaming, white towers of Fhirdiad. Neither of them say anything to one another as they cross their arms in front of them to stave off the chill, but it's nice to share this with someone. It's nice to have some kind of company.

Marianne stays in Fhirdiad for some time. Her council proves surprisingly valuable and the calmness of her words offers a balm between himself and Felix, allowing the three of them to work well enough as a unit which brings about new rulings and settles the land disputes with no further shows of violence.

She finds him in the grand chapel one night after most others have gone to bed and reaches for him, places a hand on his shoulder like she did once, years ago at Fort Merceus. Dimitri glances over toward her and she offers him a sad little smile.

"It's alright to miss him," she tells him, her hand slipping down his arm, "I do too."

His expression fractures in that moment and he looks away, steeling his resolve. He doesn't know if anyone else has said that to him. Who would dare to, who would care enough? He misses him so much it feels like a part of himself is missing, has been missing for over a year now, and when he looks back at her, he finds that her gaze hasn't left him this entire time. Something about her expression, her gentle calm, makes him want to talk to her, makes him think that she'd really listen, like Claude used to.

"I'm trying to- " he starts, then stops, doesn't know where he was going with that. Dimitri closes his eyes and starts again.

"I never wanted to rule all of Fódlan," he admits, looking back down at his hands and the way his fingers curl. "He wanted that for me. And I want to do good, I want to bring peace and equality back to these lands, more than anything else. But I feel like - like I'm just living for a whisper that he'll come back to me. I try to bury myself in work, but it's never enough. I want to succeed for my people and for him, but I don't... I've never been good enough for any of them."

She listens just like he thought she would and nods quietly when it’s over, her fingers finding his and giving his hand a soft squeeze. Marianne considers his words for a long moment, looking away from him and toward the statues at the altar. When she speaks, her voice is soft, but it's the loudest thing in the room.

"...I think we always carry that guilt around," she tells him, "that questioning. For a long time, I couldn't see my own value. But now, I know my place in the world. I know how I can help people like me. And I think... I think you're doing the same."

Marianne looks to him again and smiles a small and genuine thing.

"I know he'd be proud of you for that."

They talk more, well into the night. Marianne remains in Fhirdiad for some months afterward and quickly becomes one of his closest confidants, someone who knows him almost as well as Dedue, and someone he grows to rely on.

He still has the nightmares. He still hears his father's voice, Claude's voice, he has dreams about Claude walking away from him and into the sea, about Claude being hurt, but he knows it's not true. He'd hear about it if something happened to Claude and so he holds out hope and lives for each letter that he can send and receive when it's safe enough.

As time goes on, his hair gets longer and he grows more adept at maneuvering his way through a council just as he had a battlefield, Dimitri finds that Marianne was right - that she's right about a lot of things. Change sweeps through Fhirdiad and the rest of Fódlan and in the coming year, the country _breathes_ again and comes to life under his watchful eye. There's unrest, because there's always unrest, but for the first time in a long time - in Dimitri's lifetime, since before that - prosperity begins to bloom.

_

It's done.

He has won.

Somehow, despite the odds, despite the people who would rather see him dead than on the throne of Almyra, Claude has succeeded.

He feared, for a short while, that it might turn to civil war. His cousin had gracefully accepted defeat in exchange for a position as one of Claude's advisors. The desert lord had seen the way the winds were blowing and, finally, thrown their lot in with Claude as well. Most of their followers had rallied behind him, though a few did not. A few switched their allegiances entirely, pledging themselves to Anvari.

And that, of course, had been the problem. Though Anvari did not have the numbers to claim the throne for himself, he would not have been the first contender for the throne to wage war instead, strike suddenly and attempt a coup. Claude had begun to plan for that, had begun to put schemes into place. Anvari could not win, with most of Almyra's strength now in Claude's hands, but he could cause chaos, destruction, misery.

Claude has had enough of that.

In the end, though, it was not him who calmed Anvari's anger. It was Nader, and - of all people - Holst Goneril, crossing the mountains to visit the man he'd formed a bond with so easily during the war.

Nader is cannier than he likes to seem. Claude has known that for a long time, but he showed it again then, inviting Anvari to meet him at the border. To talk, ostensibly, but it was clear Anvari thought it was a trap. He brought his men, surely expecting a trick from Claude's supporter. But the only trick Nader had up his sleeve was Holst, someone who Anvari's men had fought against for years, someone strong and charismatic and bold.

Claude doesn't know what went on at that meeting. When asked, Nader only grinned and said, "We drank a wyvern's share of beer." But whatever he said there, whatever Holst said, changed something. Changed Anvari's mind, or his heart, or perhaps he simply saw the combined strength of Claude's allies and decided that he didn't want to die in a useless effort to take the throne for himself.

He backed down. Claude knows he may well become a problem again - he still does not support Claude's goals, has made it clear he does not want peace with Fódlan. His faction will be a thorn in Claude's side for years, no doubt, but a political thorn in his side is a thousand times better than a civil war. After all these years dealing with Lord Gloucester, Claude feels quite prepared to spend the rest of his life handling Anvari similarly.

And that's it. There are no surprises, no one rises up to oppose him. This has been how Almyra passed the reins of power down for hundreds of years, and without blood being spilled - except for a few show matches from his battalion, a few skirmishes between lesser lords, and the life of one assassin - Claude wins the throne.

It's about power. It's about strength. Claude has always thought the wisest use of power can sometimes be no use at all. Simply a display: here is what I have, the lords of Almyra arrayed behind me. May I please have the throne now?

He dresses for the coronation. The ceremony itself will be short, some simple ceremonial words, his father placing a crown on his head. It's the feast afterward that will take time - days, in fact, as the country takes the ascension of a new king as an excellent excuse for an enormous party.

Claude has always liked that about Almyra. If Fódlan had more feasts, he thinks, they'd be happier all around.

His attendants dress him, wrapping him in fine fabrics, exquisite patterns. Loose Almyran clothing, suitable for the heat, but so much finer than anything anyone would normally wear. He's worn Almyran clothing since he arrived, and it makes him feel at home, but - for a moment then, as he's preparing, he feels the ache of loss.

The last time he wore anything near so fine, it was for Dimitri's coronation.

Claude misses him then, and it hurts like a blow to his chest, like a fist around his heart. It's been so long since he's seen Dimitri, and though they've exchanged letters, though Ingrid has brought word of him, it's not the same. It's not the same as waking up next to Dimitri, taking a meal with him, making him laugh.

They drape a cape over his shoulders, and Claude thinks how long it has been since Dimitri has pressed his mouth to Claude's skin. He used to treasure every one of those marks. Now he can only try to remember how they felt, what they meant.

His love for Dimitri has not dimmed or faded. But it has been nearly a year and a half, and it will be longer still before Claude can return to Fódlan. After the feasts, when the work of governance begins, the treaty with Fódlan will be Claude's priority, as he told all of his followers. Some of them support him for that reason alone. But Anvari isn't the only one who opposes it, and Claude knows it will take months of arguing to get everyone to agree to the terms of the treaty, to craft something that Dimitri's council will agree to as well.

And to include everything that Claude desperately wishes for will be difficult indeed, but he will settle for nothing less.

It means that even now, on the day of his success, Claude does not know when he will be able to see Dimitri again. He doesn't know how he will be greeted on that day. Dimitri's letters are careful, and Claude can sometimes read the affection between the lines, but - he knows well that out of sight can be out of mind. He knows also that Dimitri has loved none but him, that his heart deserves a chance to find a place, a person that suits him better. Someone less complicated than Claude, with less difficulty, someone he could be with openly.

Claude will let him go, if that is what must happen. But he doesn't want it. He desperately hopes that he still has a place in Dimitri's heart.

At least Claude can be reassured about one thing: if the King of Fódlan were to be engaged, he would learn of it quickly even here. There has been no such word, so presumably the lords who were parading their daughters before him when Claude left haven't gotten anywhere.

(_Unless_, a quiet voice at the back of Claude's mind reminds him, _he is still courting them_.)

There's nothing he can do about any of that now. An attendant slips rings onto his fingers, chains around his neck. Gold, to represent the wealth of his family, the wealth he will bring to Almyra. Claude takes a deep breath, banishes his unwelcome and unnecessary doubts, and prepares himself. 

What will come, will come. Fódlan needed to change, Almyra needs to change. Claude will be the agent of that for them both, and he simply thanks whatever gods there may be that thus far, here in his home, it has come without the destructive war that nearly tore Fódlan apart. He will rule with as much wisdom and care as he can, and he will hold out their hand to Fódlan. 

And even if Dimitri does not love him anymore, he knows that the King of Fódlan will reach out in return, ready to take his hand, ready to forge bonds with Almyra and open his land to the world. Ready to move on from the insular, frightened past that has hurt so many people. Including Claude. Including Dimitri. 

The world is going to change. 

Claude stands before the doors to the throne room. He takes a breath, stands up straight. The doors swing open, and there is his father, crown in his hands, waiting to be placed upon the head of the next King of Almyra. 

Claude smiles, and he walks in. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years apart, Dimitri and Claude finally reunite under the guise of peace negotiations. Dimitri fears that Claude may not love him anymore, but Claude has plans to prove his affections once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support! [@Pillow_boi](https://twitter.com/Pillow_boi) made this [gorgeous fanart](https://twitter.com/Pillow_boi/status/1221546477043974147?s=20) from a moment in chapter 13, please go check it out!

Claude is king of Almyra.

There was never a doubt in Dimitri's mind that he'd do it. He is strong, smart, courageous in ways that most people wouldn't even think of. He has a dream and Dimitri knows that he'll see it through to fruition, and though it takes longer - much longer - than he'd been hoping for, Claude does it and Dimitri receives word a few weeks after.

And still, he waits. Claude doesn't come back, though Dimitri can hardly blame him. He, of all people, knows how difficult it is to be a new king and he knows that Claude _wants_ to return (he thinks, he hopes), but there are too many pressing things to do, too many alliances to secure and treaties to compose and sign. So, Dimitri waits. He waits and he rules and Seteth visits him and artfully asks him when they can expect him to start courting, a child to secure the Blaiddyd line. Dimitri doesn't know what to say to that. He never does

One chilly afternoon, word finally comes from Ingrid, who spends almost as much time in Almyra as she does in Fódlan these days. She lands down in the courtyard and rushes for the hall where Dimitri is currently discussing the year's yield of crops, running despite her long ride. When Dimitri sees her gasping for breath, his brow goes concerned and he dismisses the noble with a quick word and approaches her. Before Dimitri can say anything though, Ingrid grins at him.

“He’s coming back,” she tells him, and Dimitri's heart nearly bursts in his chest.

Ingrid is followed the next day by an Almyran messenger, who tells him the same news but with a much more formal and dignified air: the king of Almyra is coming to Fódlan for a visit to commence discussions of peace. He will be here in a week's time. Send immediate correspondence if it isn't agreeable and they can renegotiate at a later time. The messenger is stiff, a short man who carries himself with all the importance of having the delicate position of conferring between kings.

Dimitri can barely contain himself. He manages to pass on his approval and then leaves to prepare.

A week. A _week_. The castle can be cleaned in a week, statues can be polished, luxurious rugs can be dusted and laid out for Claude and his entourage. Rooms will be made available in the palace, the library re-sorted, and outfits to be made for Dimitri and his own royal guard. The week lasts forever and yet, it still seems to pass in the blink of an eye.

He doesn't know what Claude intends, not really. Well - he knows that the bit about discussion of peace is likely true, he knows that as the king of Almyra, Claude isn't coming back for good, but beyond that... does Claude want to stay, even for a short time? Does Claude want to pick up where they left off?

There's a tremor in his heart on the morning of the arrival when he looks in the mirror and finally wonders what he hasn't let himself think about until just now: does Claude still love him?

His own affections have not dimmed, and while Claude has been diligent in sending letters as often as they felt were safe, it wasn't like he could write words of passion in them. Dimitri only had words on a page to keep him guessing as to Claude's true intentions and Ingrid's sly smile whenever she returned from a trip to tell him exactly how Claude had fared, to give him little hugs and a kiss on the cheek from Claude to him.

Well... there's nothing he can do about it now, waiting on the grounds as the shadows of the Almyran wyverns draw closer. Dimitri is dressed like the king he is, in elegant blues and whites, the ornate gold circlet resting on his brow. His hair is longer now, longer than Claude has ever seen it, braided and slung over his shoulder where the gold of it matches the embroidery on his dark blue jacket. He has a cloak lined with fur around his shoulders, and his attendants and guard are dressed much the same.

Dimitri doesn't know what to do with himself as Claude's party draws in closer. He doesn't know if he can stop himself from rushing into his arms for the first time since they parted over two years ago. He can't, he knows that he must remain composed, but his heart yearns sharply for Claude the way it has for years now, and he aches to touch him, to brush his hair back, to kiss him for the first time after so long.

His anxiety must be bleeding through his attempted calm because he feels Marianne's warm hand on his shoulder, turns to see her smiling at him, reassuring and gentle and he nods to her unspoken words and tries harder to make himself blank, to not jump out of his own skin, even when he catches his first glimpse of the whiteness of Hyacinth's scales and him - him.

Claude wheels over the city, likely looking over the rebuilt capital and rallying his men now that they are ready to come back to the earth.

They land in the courtyard, all of the main party together. It's Claude and Hyacinth of course, flanked by a man who Dimitri doesn’t recognize and a man he _does_ \- Nader seems well, with a new scar or two, but still grinning and pleased to be back. There are other men and women in the party, some in the uniforms of the navy, some wearing expensive and flowing fabric in what Dimitri assumes is the Almyran fashion. He imagines that they're all important in some way for Claude to have had them join him for talks like this.

None of them hold a candle to Claude.

He’s wearing flying leathers, ornate with embroidery, dressed in dark browns and yellows for the flight. His hair is windswept, crownless, his face flushed from the cooler air up above. Is his hair longer? Is his jaw sharper? Is his beard thicker? Dimitri looks over all of him, desperate as Claude slides off of the saddle, landing easily and passing his reins off to one of the waiting servants. In that movement, Dimitri sees the familiar shape of a dagger at his belt - one that he hasn't seen in years, but recognizes immediately. The sight gives him hope and makes his heart pound even harder in his chest. The rest of the party dismounts then, and Claude approaches Dimitri with even steps.

“King Dimitri,” Claude says on a smile, but that’s not all there is. Dimitri hasn’t seen him in years, but he still remembers how he looks when he’s battling uncertainty, and he has that shade to his eyes now. Still though, Claude engages in pleasantries as he ensures that his wyvern's leash is handed off to a trusted ally. “It's good to see you.”

Dimitri’s heart pulls against his chest in a motion that almost drags him toward Claude and he longs to close the distance between them the moment that Claude lands. Two years... it's been so long and yet, he still knows the exact curve of Claude's cheek, the dip in his nose, and he feels undone when he catches a glimpse of Claude's throat underneath his collar.

He feels shaken, unsteady, his lip trembling when Claude moves toward him as a king. Claude has always been better at this kind of show than him and it's obvious here, now more than ever: while Claude's steps are even and controlled, Dimitri's knees feel like giving out from under him with the strain of holding himself back.

“Claude…” he starts, opening his mouth as if he wants to say more, but he can't - his breath leaves him at the sight of the purest green of Claude's eyes and his focus is in tatters immediately. Dimitri's fingers twitch, aching to reach for him and he inhales in a shaky gasp as if to say more, but stops himself. One of Claude's flightmates gives him an odd look but he doesn't see him, he doesn't see anything at all except for Claude approaching him.

“Claude, I -” There's a pause and he knows, he _knows_, not here, but he's already blinking back tears and it's hard, it's so hard to see him and not rush immediately into his arms. Marianne's fingers press against his back again, reassuring and insistent and Dimitri shakes his head, gathering every ounce of self control he has and forces out a laugh, though nothing feels particularly funny.

“- it's King Claude now though, isn't it? My apologies. It's good to see you too, friend.”

Dimitri reaches for him, as if to shake his hand, but grabs him by the forearm instead, hauling him in for a warm embrace.

He's careful. He's under control. The hug isn't one between lovers, but rather old friends, war buddies, a king and his former trusted general. And yet - and _yet_ it's the first time Claude has been in his arms in years and the weight of him is so familiar that it feels like home, and something slides back into place in his chest and suddenly the world is brighter, fuller, richer, because Claude is in it. Because Claude is in his arms again, where he belongs, where he's always belonged.

He wants to say something just for them into Claude's ear, but he doesn't, there isn't time for that and it's likely that someone would see. So instead he parts after only a second or two, not long enough at all and he immediately longs for more contact, but this is what they have. This is what they're allowed.

He loves him and he's never stopped loving him and Dimitri thinks that he could live forever just because it feels like the depth of his affection is incapable of ever burning out. But for now, there are rules. Claude will be his again soon - he knows it, and that's the only reason he can step back and address him and his troops calmly again.

“Just ‘Claude’ is alright,” Claude offers when he steps back and collects himself, “it feels a bit strange for you to call me ‘king’.”

It’s probably for the best, Dimitri reasons, remembering all the times that Claude would tease him by calling him _my king_. He’s dreamed about Claude calling him that again, sealing it with a kiss, distracting one another from their work, and it’s impossible not to remember all the sweet moments they’ve spent together.

“You'll be wanting to settle in, I imagine." He lets a smile flicker across his expression and tries to look at Claude's entourage, to address them as well, but he can't. There's only Claude. "There's a feast tonight in your honor - I remember how much you enjoy those.”

Claude smiles at him, more real now that they’ve embraced and he nods.

“I'd like to wash up and change, yes. Do we have time for a council meeting? I'd like to present the terms of the treaty we've prepared - then perhaps we’ll really have a reason to celebrate.”

“A council meeting...?”

It's a bit sudden - Claude has only _just_ landed after all, and already he's getting right down to business. Dimitri supposes that he shouldn't expect any different, that Claude has always held his goal of peace between their nations above everything else, and so it makes sense that he'd want to get this started as soon as possible. He can't blame him for his impatience, but it _does_ sting a little. They hadn't seen one another in two years, but before feasts or more talking or somehow finding a moment to steal away, Claude wants to discuss business.

...of course. It _has_ been two years after all, there was no guarantee that Claude would continue to feel the same. Even so, even if Dimitri is disappointed, even if all of his insecurities are weighing like a vice around his heart, the sight of Claude smiling at him makes him want to melt all over again.

He turns away, glancing back toward his attendants who had come up here to greet Claude, before nodding once, a small jerk of his chin.

“Most of the diplomats arrived early in preparation for your arrival. I'd thought that we'd start tomorrow, but - we can push it up.”

Before the feast, before anything else. He turns back toward Claude, offering him a wry smile in turn. Dimitri wants this too, he does, but... he'd thought that they could at least reunite on their terms before he'd have to stay in a council room with him all day, pretending that he's not madly in love with him after not seeing him for so long...

Dimitri takes a deep breath and gestures toward the castle, his cloak sweeping at the stone at his feet.

“Let's get you all inside. You must be cold after your journey.”

“That would be nice,” Claude admits in turn, “I'd forgotten how cold it gets here.”

It's not winter yet, not even really fall, but the first hints of autumn's chill are beginning to arrive. It's colder than Almyra, certainly, and Dimitri isn’t sure how many of Claude’s men are used to the chill of the North.

The handlers take their conversation as an opportunity to move to the wyverns, offering them large handfuls of meat to coax them back toward their stables and away from the conversation between kings.

Dimitri shows them to their rooms, but doesn't have time to linger, even if he wants to slide into Claude's room and talk to him, to kiss him, to hold him the way that they used to hold one another. He has to now prepare for his council, to tell the other nobles and ministers about it so that they can in turn prepare their own discussions and considerations. And after all that, he has to change as well.

So he moves to prepare, and the moment Claude is out of his sight, the pounding in his chest subsides. Dimitri moves back to his bedchamber and closes his door behind him, leaning back against it and sighing, willing himself not to look at the luxurious bed against the opposite wall. There's too many memories in his bed, and while he'd optimistically hoped that maybe he and Claude could tangle here after the feast... well, he knows better now.

Still, that doesn't mean that he's spiteful. He still wants this to go well and he still wants peace between their nations and he knows that Claude does too. Dimitri moves for his desk to pull out his own preparations for this council and leaves them on the wood of it as he removes his cloak and lays it on the bed.

He freshens up in his private bath, washing his face, undoing his hair and delicately re-braiding it to get all the stray bits of unruly hair to fall in line. He removes his bracelet and signet ring to clean his hands and run water over the jewelry, before reapplying it and rubbing at his face again, just one last time. He's stalling. He should get down there.

The council meeting has already started by the time that Dimitri arrives - late, due to his own preparations and Hilda catching him in the hallway to ask about a few minor details of his thoughts about the peace talks and what it might mean for the Locket. Nevertheless, when he opens the doors and moves in, he does so with straight shoulders and his head high, as all the nobility of Fódlan rise with him out of respect. Among other things, he's gotten used to that by now.

And Claude is there. Of course he is, dressed in lovely fabrics and looking every bit as handsome as the day they parted. Dimitri drags his gaze over him for a moment, meeting his eyes, but he can't spend too much time longing after him, not when there are discussions to be had.

“So,” he starts, straightening some of the parchment he'd brought with him, “long have we awaited this day. In the view of the goddess, the country of Fódlan reaches out its hand in hopeful alliance with Almyra. As king of Fódlan, I will…”

He glances at Claude again and falters, loving him desperately. He turns back to his parchment as the silence stretches and clears his throat, continuing.

“- I will do whatever I can to broker peace between our nations, for the good of all the people within them. It is my deepest hope that we can part today with our nations as friends, and move forward to continue offering peace to the other nations which surround us.”

Claude nods, holding his own proposals in his hands. He looks over them rather than looking at Dimitri, reading the words on the page again and again and Dimitri recognizes nervousness, anxiety. It’s only natural, of course: this is what Claude has been working on for as long as he’s known him. It makes sense that he’d be nervous now, that he wouldn’t be able to look at him.

It still stings, and Dimitri tries not to bite his lip as he awaits Claude’s response.

“Thank you for your kind welcome,” he finally says. “Almyra arrives with open arms, in friendship and peace. We have written a treaty that will set the terms of peace that both our countries have so long wished for.”

Claude looks over the council for a moment, before turning to face Dimitri finally. He swallows hard, taking some kind of strength from Dimitri’s presence and continues, looking back to his own ministers.

“None of these terms are final. You may refuse any of them, and we'll discuss what might take their place. But: we propose that Fódlan and Almyra open their borders to one another. There will be peace at Fódlan's Throat, and free passage between our lands. If Fódlan is threatened, we will come to your aid - and we will expect aid in turn, should our country be endangered.”

Claude isn’t reading off the paper in his hands. He’s clearly memorized what he’s about to say, but watches the words nevertheless, as if they’ll fall off the page at any moment.

“Trade will be allowed, and encouraged, to flow freely, with tariffs to be set at a low and equal rate in order to bring prosperity to both of our lands. We wish for our lands to be as brothers, with trust and true friendship that will bring peace to all of our citizens. This treaty is to last for the reigns of both King Dimitri and myself, Claude of Almyra, only to be renegotiated when our respective heirs ascend the thrones.”

Dimitri listens to the terms and nods, having considered most of these aspects and figured them into his own notes for their peace talks. Of course, Claude's thoughts are more comprehensive, Claude has thought about this for longer, wanted it, spent longer planning it and Dimitri trusts him enough to give him reign on whatever it is he wants to negotiate. There will be small things to discuss, rates and trades and passage and other similar things, but overall the idea is solid and one that Dimitri can agree to.

“As such…” Claude continues, and then falters uncharacteristically. Dimitri tilts his head, only to find Claude’s gaze on him again, tentative, afraid, but continuing after a moment because he must.

”...as such, the final provision of our treaty is this: that the King of Fódlan and the King of Almyra be bound in the holy union of matrimony. They will - they will rule their respective lands as uncontested monarchs, while each acts as royal consort and advisor to the other. Our countries will remain separate, but through this act, our alliance will be eternal.”

Dimitri goes frozen, shock-still but Claude keeps talking, explaining the details of it and laying it out on the table for them. For _him_. He can see the way that Claude's gaze catches on him and he feels numb all of a sudden, unable to speak, unable to even open his mouth or do anything but stare at him.

So this is why Claude wanted to have a council right away. This is why Claude wanted to present his treaty to him rather than find him in private. Because Claude still - he wouldn't have asked for this if he didn't want to be with him, even after all this time, Dimitri knows that this part of the treaty wasn't necessary by any means, but Claude must have suggested it, which means that Claude _wants_ it, which means -

\- which means that he still loves him.

He does. He _has_ to. Dimitri has seen the dagger on his belt, had felt his shaky arms during their embrace, but how could he have known for sure when Claude wanted to bring matters before a council the moment he landed? How could he have known anything about what Claude was planning? Always a trickster even in this, always someone who liked to keep his cards in his sleeve until the last moment, and now here it is.

_Matrimony_. Claude wants to - what Claude is putting on the table here, in front of everyone, and Dimitri had never thought about it, had never even let himself _consider_ it because it was so out of the realm of possibility. Being married to Claude, the sheer thought of being able to wake up to him in the morning, to kiss him in front of servants, to move between their nations as partners, lovers in front of the entire world... he had never allowed himself to entertain that notion. He'd never once let himself think about it or he'd want it too much and it would eat him alive.

But here Claude is, offering it. Asking him. And by the look of his advisers, they anticipated this since none of them look surprised at all. Dimitri swallows hard and - it can't be real, he thinks as doubt starts to flood through his senses. Nothing about this can be real. He must have misunderstood the terms, must have misheard Claude somehow.

The various nobility of Fódlan around the table are watching him and in some of their expressions, Dimitri sees confusion - in others, the ones who had some inkling of their relationship, he sees joy. But it's not true. It can't be. Claude may love him, but he wouldn't make a move this drastic... would he?

“Are you…”

He wishes he could talk to him. He wishes he could steal him away into a private room where he could make sure he understands, because here and now, across the too-large table, with Claude so far away, Dimitri knows that everyone will hear anything he wants to say to him and he wishes this conversation could be had away from the others, so he can understand Claude's play here.

Claude has always been hard to read, even for someone like Dimitri who considered himself well-versed in his mannerisms. This is the most shocking and confusing thing he's offered yet and so Dimitri can't help himself when he glances toward his close advisers and looks back toward Claude, meeting his eyes and leaning forward, his conspiratorial whisper loud enough so that Claude can hear it and so, loud enough so that everyone else in the room can too.

“- are you proposing to me?”

He wishes his voice would be less shaky, but he's already on the cusp of a great precipice. The next few moments will change his life forever and he knows it, he wants it, he wants it more than anything else in the world, but he has to know that it's real. He has to know that it's what Claude _means_, and so he breaks from his kingly airs to ask him, to hope, and if it's unprofessional, if it shows weakness, then... well, surely he'll be allowed that, given what Claude seems to be presenting to him.

Claude smiles, but this is the most uncertain smile yet. There’s genuine fear in his eyes and a longing that Dimitri recognizes after all this time, a hesitance that makes him want to reach out and drag Claude closer somehow, but he can’t. Is he uneasy because he thinks Dimitri will refuse him? Or is it because Dimitri has misinterpreted somehow, the fool, and now he must correct him?

Still, Claude clears his throat and nods, clarifying quietly to the room around them.

“I'm offering you my hand formally, as the King of Almyra, and as myself. You… you don’t have to accept it.”

Claude spells it out for him and Dimitri still doesn't quite believe, but he catches the uneasy look in his eyes, the insecurity and heartbreak and he's seen it before and he knows then exactly what Claude is offering. His stomach turns and for all that his own pessimism didn't want to let him believe that this is real, that Claude is actually offering him his hand in _marriage_, there can be no mistake.

The nobility around the table are all watching him. Dimitri is used to their gaze by now, but not used to the way that they're looking at him: some with confusion, some with sympathy, and some - his inner circle, Ingrid, Annette, and Dedue in his lavish robes and close-cropped hair - they look at him with pride and a certain happiness. They know just as he does how he wants this. How he's always wanted this.

He won't make Claude wait any longer.

“-I accept.”

It's perhaps a bit too quick, but he can't say it any other way. He wants to vault over the tables, to rush around the room in order to get Claude into his arms again, but he knows he can't, despite the nature of their conversation and how most would allow themselves to be swept off their feet. He can't afford to let his emotions get the better of him, not when Claude seems to be implying that he's spinning this as a political union rather than a passionate affair.

But he wants to. _Goddess_, he wants to, with everything in him, with a fire that won't burn out. Dimitri is reeling just thinking of where this can go, realizing that he doesn't have to part from Claude for this long ever again.

Just like he promised, years ago in Dimitri’s bedchamber.

Dimitri closes his eyes and tips his head down, trying to find the right words to say, the right political angle to lean into, but his head is spinning with the idea of kissing Claude on a dais in front of the nation, of holding his hand in public, of - goddess, of having Claude stay with him in his suite with no false pretenses. He takes a deep breath and it's shaky, he can't keep the emotion out of his voice, but he _can_ keep it out of what exactly he's saying.

“I agree to be your consort, and have you as mine. In the name of peace between our nations I accept your terms, Claude von Riegan. And I -”

He looks to him again and just the sight of Claude, two years aged with the same soft look on his face makes emotion well up in him. There are so many things he wants to tell him, _I love you, I'll always love you, I want you_, but for Claude's political gambit, he doesn't. He can't. He simply looks at him, his eye shining with tears, and nods.

“...I'll do right by you. As both the King of Fódlan and your -” he chokes on it, he's not supposed to choke, but Claude is giving him everything he could ever want and it's hard enough to keep himself from saying all the other things he wants to say, so he just finishes: “your husband.”

Claude’s look of doubt and insecurity fades quickly and relief floods his expression, followed by happiness, hope, the same feeling that grasps at Dimitri’s chest.

“Then it's agreed,” Claude says around a brilliant smile, the kind that Dimitri longs to taste, but Claude manages to keep up the political display better than he has. “Word of our betrothal will be sent to Almyra. The rest of the details -” He taps the paper in front of him “- will be worked out over the coming weeks, between your council and our delegation.”

There’s a pause and Claude looks up toward Dimitri, his expression guarded as ever.

“I have wanted this for a very long time,” he admits, cagey enough that he could simply be talking about the alliance, but now Dimitri knows that it’s more than that - much more. “Thank you for coming to this negotiation with an open heart. Now - I think you said something about a feast?”

“I - yes.”

Not being able to touch Claude, to hold him, is the worst punishment he can imagine. Needing to speak to Claude as another king instead of a lover throughout the feast will be torture, but at least they can be seated next to one another, at least Dimitri can reach for his fingers and hold his hand under his table, feel his pulse at his wrist and see if it's just as desperate as his own.

Even tonight... they wouldn't be expected to stay in the same room yet, not with their arrangement so new and so delicate. Claude will have to sneak away again, but Dimitri will dismiss the servants and the guards as usual. Until then, it's further show, even if Dimitri's thoughts are all a scattered blur.

Marriage. He's going to _marry_ Claude.

“In the great hall.” But he wants a moment of Claude’s time so badly and so Dimitri tells a lie, just a small one. “...I doubt the first course is quite ready. I'll have someone sent to your rooms to inform you when it is, though it shouldn't be long.”

He tries to smile but it's shaky, still too full of emotion as he straightens his coat and motions for the council to end. He's barely lifted his hand however, when Ingrid is already standing, moving around the table and asking one of Claude's ministers a question about their wyvern stables. 

Dedue stands as well and gently pulls two of Claude's allies aside to discuss Duscur's role in the treaty, and Sylvain sits there with a silly smile on his face before Annette offers a sharp elbowing jab to his side, upon which he pounces up to take up a spot at the last Almyran noble's ear, vaulting off into some sort of asinine conversation about rainfall in Faerghus.

Which leaves... Claude, free to walk out the door without his allies around him. And Dimitri, who only has eyes for him.

“Your highness - you just agreed to…” one of his council says, but Dimitri waves him off and uncharacteristically, it's Felix who snarls at the man and frightens him into compliance. Dimitri finally catches Claude's eye and nods his head toward the door, where he makes a move to exit out into the hall and away from the myriad of discussions happening back in the room.

Claude rushes after him, his face lighting up in a smile as he understands what the others are doing.

“With all these halls, I think I might need an escort back to my room,” he offers his men, a statement which is patently false to anyone who truly knows him, given the months Claude spent living here and his familiarity with the castle layout. It’s hardly even serious and nobody pays him any mind and so when Claude moves forward to take Dimitri’s arm in his hand, the next thing he says is murmured just between them as they move out into the hall:

“I was terrified you would say no.”

It hurts something in him, breaks him in that perfect, soft little way and Dimitri wants to envelop him in his arms, wants to love him, to hold him, to need him more than he's ever needed anything and so he nods, looking back toward Claude as he drags him toward the hall.

“I love you.”

He says in a hushed voice. And then -

“I love you.”

Again. He hasn't been able to say this for two _years_, trapped with letters where he couldn't say what he felt, wondering if Claude thought the same, stuck with this unbearable affection and need for someone who wasn't there. Dimitri reaches for him, pulls him in close, presses him against the wall in the hallway, and hunches over him, trying to just envelop as much of Claude's body into his as he possibly can.

Claude melts against him, gasping for breath and wrapping his arms around him, speechless, his eyes shining bright with tears as Dimitri whirls into him, colliding finally now that they have their first seconds truly alone together.

Broken, soft, Dimitri says it again: “I love you.”

It doesn't feel like a weakness anymore. It feels like he's finally untethering something in his chest, something that has felt wrong since Claude left, something that he had to keep inside and couldn't let out until now. He loves him. He loves him. He squeezes his eye tight and loves him more than he could ever know.

“Dimitri,” Claude finally gasps, his slender fingers clutching onto Dimitri’s jacket, burying his face into his chest, “I _love_ you.”

“Can you kiss me?” Dimitri asks, soft and vulnerable, opening his eye again to look into Claude's face and ask him delicately, even though they're in his hallway, even though someone might see. He asks and he wants it more than anything. “Can I - I never want to leave you again, please.”

“Yes - yes.”

Claude stretches upward, bridging the gap between them, his hands settling on Dimitri's arms to steady himself and for one more point of contact, one more place to hold on to. Dimitri falls into his arms easier than anything and kisses him - _kisses_ him, surging forward and wanting to be as close to Claude as he possibly can be. He winds up pressing him against the wall, letting out a soft and possessive growl while he leans in low, presses their lips together and just _kisses_ him.

He missed him. He loves him. He kisses him like it's the only thing in the world that matters - it is. Dimitri presses his hands to Claude's face, tilting his head as he presses his mouth against Claude's again, again, hot and breathy and _so_ desperate. He couldn't stop, not in a hundred years, and he feels so _complete_ finally, as if having Claude in his arms is the culmination of years of longing.

And now he never has to be away from him again, all thanks to Claude, all because of Claude's genius, his intellect, his devotion to him.

Dimitri kisses him hungrily and without any regard to the outside world, not until the door opens again and he pulls back, shaken, needing to kiss him again, so close to him and almost throwing caution to the wind to just _do_ it, but it's Sylvain who moves into the hall this time and arches an eyebrow toward the two of them. It's obvious what they were doing, but at least it's Sylvain, who... kind of understands.

“Well,” he says on a laugh, glancing behind him toward the door again, “I'm the last guy who's gonna stop you. But you might want to take it to your room - I think some of your diplomats are coming, and they seem _pre-tty_ pissed.”

Dimitri feels heat flooding to his cheeks in his embarrassment but nods quickly anyway, clasping a hand over Claude's wrist and murmuring his thanks before pulling him back down the hall and toward their rooms. His breath is shaky when he turns to him on their walk, his fingers slipping down to catch Claude's hand, tightening his grip on him.

“I was so afraid,” he whispers, glancing away, “that I could never be with you again. I don't know how you've managed this, but you have my gratitude, forever.”

Claude presses close to him, too close to simply be two old friends walking through the hall, but Dimitri would have it no other way. He barely spares a glance back to Sylvain, instead clutching at Dimitri’s arm, slipping his hand down to lace their fingers together. 

“It wasn't easy, but - I knew it would be worth it. When you want something, sometimes you've got to do whatever you need to in order to fight for it.”

They’re at Claude’s familiar guest rooms quicker than Dimitri expects, and Claude reaches up for his collar and pulls him inside, shutting the door behind him too quickly.

It's not often that they would spend time in Claude's room, even when he was more or less living at the palace in the past. Claude was generally the one to sneak into the royal quarters, and why not? They're larger, more luxurious, and people were far less likely to bother either of them in Dimitri's own personal bedchamber.

Still, it's a nice place. Claude still has his own private bathroom, a wardrobe and vanity, a large window looking out toward the snowy Faerghus sunrise. It's missing the balcony and fireplace, and the bed is not _quite_ as large, but it's better than most other rooms in the palace.

Dimitri hardly notices. He crashes into Claude again as soon as the door is closed behind him, gathering him up in his arms, helplessly in love with the perfect way his hands curl around Claude's back, fingers brushing against his spine.

The feast will begin soon - it may have already begun, but they can be a little late, they can steal a moment or two just for themselves. They’ve earned at least that much, Dimitri thinks.

“I missed you so much,” Claude says, arching into Dimitri’s touch, his voice going soft with emotion, “I'm sorry this took so long - I'm sorry we were apart for so long. It won't be like that again.”

“I know.”

Dimitri says it like a promise, pressing his face into Claude's soft hair, inhaling the scent of him and Dimitri can't help but to shiver with the knowledge that Claude is here, Claude is _home_, and he can just be with him all the time, just the way he wants, that they can have one another over and over again.

It isn't necessarily even about the sex, though he _did_ find himself sorely missing that too: it was waking up to someone next to you, having someone to talk to about everything, to know without a doubt that one person, just one, would never betray you. Claude has always had Dimitri's complete and utter trust, and it puts his heart at ease to have him close by once more.

“I wanted to say so many things in my letters. I wanted to tell you how much I love you, how much I missed you.” He squeezes him tight, careful with his strength, pressing his mouth over Claude's ear in a clumsy kiss. 

“...how proud I am of you. My lover. My king.” There's a pause and Dimitri lets out a soft, gleeful chuckle. “My _fiance_.”

“Your letters gave me strength. Just knowing that you were thinking of me - that you hadn't forgotten me… the moment I landed, I realized - you might have found someone else. You might not want this anymore. But by then it was too late.”

Claude laughs at his own foolishness before leaning in for another kiss and then another, incapable of stopping.

“I ought to have sent a letter to warn you,” Claude finally offers when they part again, breathless, “I'm sorry for the surprise.”

He isn’t. Dimitri knows that Claude is proud of himself, knows that the boy back at the Academy with his penchant for schemes and delight at seeing the shock on another’s face would be _thrilled_ to know what a fantastic game that he’s played here. It’s worked too, which Dimitri fears will only encourage Claude to continue with stunts like this.

It's just like Claude to try and shock him with something like this, to take pleasure in making Dimitri's world stop and start again. He can't help but to kiss him, and pulls back when Claude does, tilting his head under his lover's scrutiny.

“Look at you,” Claude tells him, reaching up to brush his fingers along Dimitri’s cheek, soft and longing, “I think you've gotten even more handsome while I was away.”

Dimitri wonders if he should feel self conscious. He's changed in the past few years, but it's nothing compared to the change he'd gone through after leaving the Academy. Claude's reaction puts him at ease with his fingers against his face and Dimitri leans into his hand, smiling and covering Claude's fingers with his own.

“I could say the same for you,” he says warmly, turning his face to kiss at Claude's palm, holding his hand there for a moment before letting go of him and stepping in again, letting his hand slip downward, fingers hooking into Claude's belt, tracing over the cold steel of the dagger. “And you still have this... even after all this time.”

It's soft, awestruck, and Dimitri finds himself smiling, leaning in to press against him, hungrier this time and using his grip at Claude's belt to pull him close

“It never left my side,” Claude promises softly, “it saved my life once.”

Dimitri immediately wants to ask Claude about that - saved his life? Of course, he knew that Claude's journey wouldn't be an easy one and knew that Claude was risking a lot by going there, but his _life_... it's so precious that Dimitri immediately feels regret that he wasn't there to help him, to save him. It's clear that Claude made it through okay of course, but the idea makes him want to cling harder, despite Claude suddenly pulling away from him to go toward the bed and pluck up his travel pack.

“I brought this for you,” he says, retrieving a small and delicately-worked pouch. When he moves back to be at Dimitri’s side, he opens the bag, sliding out the contents into his palm and holding his hand out for Dimitri and - oh.

It's a ring. A band of Almyran gold, finely made, worked with a stylized pattern of moons and stars all around it. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and it sparkles in the low light of the room.

“...if you'll have it.”

Claude breathes out the words, glancing away almost shyly, as if Dimitri hadn’t already accepted the engagement in a room full of nobility. This feels more private somehow, just between the two of them, and Dimitri’s heart lurches again at Claude’s proposal.

He makes a move to take the ring in his hands, but hesitates at the last moment, feeling the warmth of Claude's palm underneath his. He can already feel how special it is, how beautiful, and how Claude must have gotten it custom made, and so Dimitri pulls his hand back, just a few inches. He feels awfully like a blushing maiden here, extending her hand for a betrothed, but to just _take_ it from Claude's fingers feels wrong, given what it signifies.

“Of course I will,” he tells him warmly, spreading his fingers a little so that Claude can slip it on. He hopes that Claude can't see the tremble in his hand even now - but he knows that if he does, Claude will be too kind to remark on it and as the ring slides on, it feels like something has completed him in a way that he didn't even know was possible.

Dimitri looks at it for a moment, pulling his hand up to twist it around his finger and appreciate the design, before turning his attention back toward Claude and leaning in for a warm kiss.

“I would have prepared a proposal for you as well, if I thought... if I knew.”

He laughs though, because he wouldn't trade Claude's scheming surprise for the world, even though he's sure that his council would have appreciated some more notice. 

“Oh -” Dimitri suddenly pulls away, reaching behind his neck and unclasping the small golden chain of a necklace. Dimitri is careful to hold both ends and to not let it fall, and when he lifts it above the collar of his shirt, Claude's earring is dangling from the center of it, shined and warm from his skin. “- I've kept this for you. I'm sure as king, you have plenty of jewelry, but…”

He smiles thinly as he pulls Claude's hand closer to him again and lowers it into his palm, chain and all.

“...it was nice, to be able to hold it and think of you.”

Claude closes his hand around the earring, holding it for a moment, his mouth drawn tight with emotion.

“I have jewelry, but this one is important to me.” He opens his hand again, contemplates it for a moment, and then smiles. “More important now that I know it kept me in your thoughts. You can keep it, if you like - but you'll have to get me something nicer.”

Claude smiles his teasing smile and Dimitri knows that his words are a joke but he still desires to give him that… to offer him something to match the beauty of Claude’s ring, to propose to him in turn… he will, as soon as he’s able to tear himself away from Claude’s embrace.

“If I keep it, I'll wear it like yours,” he promises, moving to take it again. He should have done that before, but wearing something of Claude's in such an obvious way would have been seen as strange to those around him, particularly those who would have remembered Claude's own particular style before he left.

But now that they're to be married - why not? Why shouldn't he carry around Claude's earring in his own ear? Dimitri thinks nothing of the pain of it, only wants to feel it piercing through his skin, a reminder he can wear that he is Claude's and Claude is his.

“And I'll give you a ring,” Dimitri says on a smile, moving to scoop up Claude again, hands under his thighs as he moves the other man to the bed, “a pair to my own, when you least expect it.”

Claude’s breath hitches and he raises his arms to hold at Dimitri’s shoulders for support, looking up at him with a smile.

“Dimitri, I missed you so much,” he says on a rush, and Dimitri has him in his bed again and feels complete.

He pushes Claude back onto the mattress, impatient and desperate to _touch_ him again. Dimitri kisses him soundly, crashing their mouths together in a hungry, messy kiss, wanting nothing more than to take Claude apart and press so close against him that they could never possibly part again. He wants to take his time, to categorize every change in his body, to run his mouth over every part of him, he wants -

\- there's a knock on the door. 

Dimitri growls low in his throat and leans down to bite at Claude's neck, _finally_ able to start worrying a bruise into the skin there, the first one he's been able to make in years. Damn the knock, damn the person at the door, damn anyone who would intervene. Dimitri can't pull away, it's physically impossible for him to do so now that he’s _so_ close, and luckily, whoever is at the door respects Claude's privacy enough to not barge in.

“Your highness,” the person on the other side says, a woman, but not a voice Dimitri recognizes, “the feast is starting. No one can find the king of Fódlan - is he still with you?”

The king of Fódlan is currently sucking a dark mark into Claude's neck like a beast, fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair, growing more insistent with each passing moment. After all, it’s not like _he_ has to respond, as the question is posed directly toward Claude.

Claude's arms go around Dimitri, holding him there, dragging him closer. Every move that he makes is an encouragement, every soft breath and gasp Dimitri can pull from him makes him only want to do _more_, to suck more marks into his tender flesh and let him wear them for the hours to come.

But, the door.

They won't barge in on him, it would be a breach of protocol for both the king's guest and for a reigning monarch of a neighboring country. But Dimitri knows that Claude will need to respond somehow, and he doesn’t care if he’s making it more difficult for him by sinking his teeth into the lovely patch of skin near his collarbone - after all, he has to repay Claude’s engagement surprise _somehow_.

“Yes,” Claude finally responds, managing to sound almost normal, though anyone who knows him well - and luckily this woman doesn't seem to - would be able to hear the strain, “we are discussing the upcoming announcement of our engagement. We -” he takes a breath here, stifling a gasp as Dimitri runs his tongue over the bruise he’s leaving, “- may be a bit late. Please do not hold the festivities on our account.”

That should buy them a little time. Not a lot - they still _have_ to be there, and can't arrive too terribly late, but maybe enough. Enough for this, to fall into one another’s arms and have their share of each other before they must pretend to simply be close allies again.

The servant politely affirms that she has heard and will carry the message to the serving staff and nobles. Dimitri barely hears that part, because Claude’s fingers are tangling in his hair now and pulling him up, up so that they can kiss once more. This kiss isn't one of longing, but of hunger, biting and demanding and Dimitri returns it in kind, breathing hotly between them.

“I've - thought about you,” he tells him, as soon as he can bear to pull back, though his lips still skirt along Claude's face, pressing messy kisses against his cheek, “missed your kisses, your thighs... _this_.”

He finds Claude’s mouth again and presses his tongue inside, firm, needy, desperate to just _taste_ him again, to fill his entire mouth with the taste of him. It's hot and Claude's hands on him only serve to make him more desperate. So in the end, who can blame him for his own hands sliding downward, seeking out the heated space between Claude's legs, cupping him there? And _goddess_, he's missed the weight of him so much, heavy on his tongue, in his fingers.

Dimitri loves a lot of things about Claude: his wit, his charm, his elegance, his endless loyalty and determination, but on that list is still _this_. He hasn't allowed himself to linger on it among all the other things he missed about Claude, but the lovely shape of his cock is something he's dreamed about and now, to touch it again... well, who can blame his impatience?

“I've dreamed about taking you apart in so many ways.” His fingers slip underneath the hem of Claude's pants, reaching for him, finally getting his fingers around him. “I wish we could take our time, but…”

It's clear that they can't, not with the feast awaiting them, not with the myriad of other responsibilities they have ahead of them. After a moment though, Dimitri stills, pulls away just a hair, just so he can look down at Claude, brows furrowing as a thought strikes him.

“- that is, if you want to. I can wait too, if you need…”

If he needs what? Time? Dimitri hadn't meant to maul him again the first chance he got, but they had to expect something like this happening with how... voracious they'd been while Claude was here last, how often they'd enjoyed tangling into one another. Still, if Claude wants to wait, or if Claude wants anything else at all, Dimitri can offer that to him. He has enough restraint for that, no matter how much his body is demanding that he _move_.

Claude shakes his head, calming all of his insecurities, and reaches for him.

“I need _you_.” He lets out a soft laugh, arching up against Dimitri’s fingers, his mouth quirked up slyly. “I haven’t had you for two years, and you want to make me wait?”

His voice is more teasing than anything, even though they both know that they don't have time to really enjoy themselves, to get out of their clothes and relearn one another. Tonight, maybe - tonight after everything is done, or if not then, soon.

But _soon_ isn't good enough, and neither of them feel like waiting, and so they have this. They have Claude fumbling at Dimitri’s pants now, clumsy but sure, working the clasps open and sliding his hand inside to feel the warm weight of him.

“I missed you - I missed your hands, your mouth, your cock… I got used to having you in my bed, Dimitri, I don't know how I managed without. I would think about you and touch myself, think about all the ways you've touched me, all the ways you've had me, all the things I've done to you.

He can't help but laugh at that, but it’s breathless because Claude's clever fingers are working his pants just low enough to free his trapped length and Dimitri gasps in pleasure, squirming so that Claude can reach him more easily. It's been years since he felt Claude's hands on him. _Years_, and all that time melts away until it feels like nothing at all, until they're laughing together as they fall into bed and Claude reaches for him as if he hung the stars himself.

Dimitri remembers every angle of his body but takes the opportunity here to refresh himself, turning them on the bed so that they're both facing one another and he can stroke gently at Claude's cock with one hand while he tips his chin up with the other and kisses him, warm and brimming over with the simple pleasure of _feeling_ him again.

Another time, he might have felt self conscious. There have certainly been times in the past where Claude's filthy mouth has caused him to blush or to shove at him in embarrassment. Now... well, now it's been so long that he can't care - it's been so long that it only serves to excite him further, and Dimitri presses their hips together, twisting a long leg (goddess, he's still wearing his _boots_) over Claude's thigh to hitch their legs closer, until he can feel Claude's hand working in tandem with his own.

“I'll stay in your bed forever,” he promises, leaning in for another biting kiss, “every night, we'll collapse together. I'll tell you about my - _ah_, my day, and you -”

It's hard to speak when Claude is pleasuring him like this, and just his hand almost feels like too much. Maybe it's for the best that their first time together wasn't sprawled out and languid; Dimitri is sure that he'd not have lasted through a fifth of it if he's already so ready to burst now.

“- you can have me, in every way we've both dreamed about, every night for the last two years.”

The fantasy is too good to be true. Dimitri loves him, he loves him so much, he feels as if he's going to cry with loving him, with being loved by him, with Claude's hands on him and his voice in his ear. It's almost too much, but he keeps himself together, if only just so that he can kiss him again.

Claude presses closer, nudging Dimitri’s hand away, somehow managing to keep whatever scraps of his composure might be left while Dimitri has already thrown all of his out the window.

“That's all I want, you in my bed, thinking only of me.”

With that, Claude wraps his fingers around the both of them, letting their cocks slide together, slicked with the evidence of their need. Claude works at them expertly, with the experience he’s learned the last time they could be together like this, fast and hard and _wet_.

He presses even closer so that he can kiss Dimitri, hungry and sloppy.

“Here - I want to take care of you, I want to see you come, ah -” Claude is breathless with it now, fucking up into his own fist, against Dimitri’s cock, his hips surging against him while Dimitri wraps an arm around his shoulder, holds him closely, kisses him for all he’s worth.

“Dimitri -”

Claude comes first, barely able to take it as his hips surge forward into his hand and he spends into his own fingers. Dimitri wants to hold him through it, wants to kiss him and memorize the exact shape of his mouth when he’s lost in pleasure like he is, but all he can do is follow suit, coming in an aching burst and adding to the mess in Claude's hand.

It's like breathing for the first time again, and when he reaches for Claude, he's there.

“_Claude._”

He loves him so much. Dimitri pulls at his shoulders to bring him in close and wonders how they could possibly part for the feast, how he'd make it through the entire affair without reaching for him again. Dimitri nestles his face into Claude's neck and loves him viciously, more than he thinks he's ever loved anything else.

Their hands are messy, they'll need to straighten up, and the feast is already starting... but Dimitri takes an extra moment just to come down from it, to bask in the afterglow and inhale Claude's scent, filling his lungs with it until it's just as much a part of him as the rest of his body.

“...I love you.”

He tells him again, soft and sincere, a whisper between them.

Claude presses into him, kissing his ear, his jaw, his temple. He can't get as close as he would like, for fear of ruining their clothes, but he gets as close as he can.

“I love you too,” he responds, just as soft, something meant only for him.

But it can’t last. It shouldn’t even have gone on _this_ long and as his pleasure abates, the rest of the world comes back into focus: the feast, the nobles, the ways they must present themselves. So, very reluctantly, Claude pulls away from him.

Dimitri can't help but to groan at that and it's not the pleasant sort of groan that he'd been making earlier. This is a more exasperated sound, an _’I don't want to’_, a _’let's just forget about our responsibilities’_ sort of sound.

But Claude keeps him out of trouble as always and finds a cloth to clean them both with, and helps him to get back to a presentable state. Dimitri eventually sits up and tucks himself away, cleaning off his hands and then moving to straighten out his hair from where it had gotten all mussed. He thinks that he still looks _rumpled_, but there’s little to be done about that now.

Claude smiles back to him when they’re cleaned up.

“Come, my lion. Your lords will want to see you. I imagine my proposal has shocked them all.”

Goddess, how long has it been since Dimitri has been called that? Too long. To hear it on Claude's lips is... his heart skips a beat and he looks up toward the other man with a smile, reaching for him to tangle their fingers together, just for a moment.

“That's going to be a nightmare to deal with.”

But the aftermath will be worth it, he thinks, and the prospect of just being _with_ Claude is a sweet enough one that Dimitri will work tirelessly to make it happen. So he moves, straightening a few hems on Claude's clothing in a protective, affectionate sort of way before moving out into the hallway with him, letting their fingers fall away from one another.

Remembering the real world that exists outside here and remembering all the nobles he must now convince and appeal to makes him tired all of a sudden, but no less eager. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can be with Claude - the sooner they can have their wedding and give up the pretense, and the sooner he can finally hold Claude’s hand in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the home stretch now! As always, thank all of you for reading and for all of your lovely comments. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After madness, loss, a war, a victory, rebuilding, and a long separation - it's finally time for a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a look at this INCREDIBLE art people have done for our fic! I cry every time I look at them.
> 
> [A scene from chapter 13](https://twitter.com/dimas_weekend/status/1226012034854092802?s=2) by [dimas_weekend](https://twitter.com/dimas_weekend)!!
> 
> [A scene from chapter 5](https://twitter.com/Iaurencin/status/1224857657686855686?s=20) by [laurencin](https://twitter.com/Iaurencin)!!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with us this far. Just a couple more chapters! Enjoy these long-awaited festivities!

To no one's surprise, the wedding of the King of Fódlan and the King of Almyra is the event of the year - perhaps the decade. The nobles of both lands flock to it, and Claude knows that if there is any chance of a true partnership being born between the countries, it will be there. A wedding, a feast, and the celebrations before and after - what better way to mark the moment two peoples, long at war, make a vow of peace?

Fódlan's Locket might not seem like the ideal location for a wedding, being for so long a fortress meant for war, but now it's become something else. Almyrans spread out along the pass through Fódlan's Throat, stretching back into their own country, while the people of Fódlan gather on the other side - and with the gates flung open, they can all mingle freely. It's not without conflict, of course, after so many years at war, but both the soldiers of Almyra and of Fódlan have been charged with keeping the peace. Even if there is distrust, suspicion, harsh words, there is no bloodshed.

And more than that: there is the careful flourishing of trade, merchants from Almyra reaching out to their counterparts on the other side. There are Claude's guards and Dimitri's, both expected to protect their lords, serving alongside each other. There is the mingling that happens naturally, people who have come to see the festivities, nobles who are thrown into the same political arena.

It's incredible, really. It's more than a celebration, more than a marriage ceremony. It's the true beginning of peace between their lands.

But of course, to Claude it has always been more than even that.

That means something to him. It means so much, it always has, it's been his dream for so long. But this - this is something else. A chance for their people to find common ground, a chance for bonds to be made, and chance for peace, all that is true.

But at its base, at its core, this is the day that Claude gets to marry the man he loves.

Claude has always been hopeful, optimistic in his own way. He worked for this, he fought for this, he _won_ this. But until this day, he's not sure he ever really believed that it would happen. Not really, not truly, not with the kind of finality that would make it something that couldn't be changed.

Now here he is, dressing for his own wedding, and he's - afraid.

He shouldn't be. He knows that, logically. There is nothing to be afraid of. Though there has been plenty of opposition, plenty of nobles who don't like the match, none of them have been able to summon up a good enough argument to stop the signing of the treaty - which their engagement was part of. He's sure that they have kept arguing, that they've brought their resistance to Dimitri, but he has not had to deal with it himself. He's also sure that's because of Dimitri, sparing him from the hatred he's come to expect.

So politics won't stop this marriage. And his parents - they've come for the wedding, they've met Dimitri. They _like_ him, so strong and brave, the sort of man who gives his beloved a dagger and sends him off to win a country. A war hero, scarred and intimidating but so terribly polite, so considerate of Claude. How could they not love him? They would never oppose this marriage, either.

So it's not that. It's not even something conscious, really, he doesn't think. Dimitri loves him, he knows that, he doesn't doubt it. They haven't been able to spend every night together - Claude has had business in Almyra that took him from Dimitri's side - but they've had enough. They've fallen into each other again, and though Claude's rooms are still properly kept separate from Dimitri's until after the wedding, he really hasn't been spending much time in his own rooms. He's relearned the lines of Dimitri's body, the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his embrace.

Dimitri loves him. He knows it, truer than anything he's ever felt before. But still, he's afraid, and it makes no sense at all.

Hilda is in his dressing room, busy, making sure his clothes drape properly, that everything is exactly as it should be. She had a hand in planning all of this, from his clothes to the decorations to the musicians. Claude had enough to worry about, so he left it to her - to her, and Marianne, and Lorenz, and Dimitri's friends who wished to be involved. He knows they've done well. He trusts them.

He's all in golds and yellows, with black to accent - the colors of both the Alliance and Almyra - but all his patterns are Almyran, and his clothing designed to accentuate that, loose and flowing rather than the constricting fashions of Fhirdiad. It's still thick with brocade, and he's draped in jewelry, showing the wealth of his family, of his country - an earring to replace the one that Dimitri now wears, necklaces around his neck, gold on his wrists. And his crown resting on his head, a band of gold that is ornately carved with wyverns, mountains, the sun.

Hilda adjusts his sash, laying across his chest, and steps back.

“You look all right,” she says, somewhat grudgingly, “I wish you'd let me put some makeup on you.”

Claude laughs, his tension broken by her words, and he feels almost like himself again. “This wedding alone will shock them. Let's avoid any more surprises, all right?”

Hilda rolls her eyes, but accepts that, and carefully arranges what seems like every bit of cloth on his body. She steps back, surveys him.

“Dimitri's going to faint when he sees you,” she says, sounding proud of herself now.

Claude smiles, just a little, swallowing down his nerves. “I thought you didn't like him?”

“I like him fine,” Hilda says, ignoring the fact that that is almost provably untrue. “I just think he looks like a rat you found in the garbage. But he cleans up nice enough.”

Though part of him wants to laugh again, Claude can't quite manage it. “Well, let's get through this before he comes to his senses, all right?”

And maybe that's what it comes down to. Maybe today Claude is afraid because somewhere, deep down at the core of himself, he's always been worried that someday Dimitri would see him the way everyone else does. An outsider, unwanted, not good enough. Something strange and suspicious, untrustworthy. He knows it isn't true, he _knows_ it. But he's spent so long hearing that, being treated that way, that it is impossible not to be afraid.

After so long, he's about to get what he's dreamed of, he's about to be with the one he loves. Of course now would be the time that he'd be most afraid that it might go wrong. Even if he knows it won't, even if he trusts Dimitri more than he's ever trusted anyone, he's still afraid.

The only way to destroy that fear is to go through with this. Luckily, that's exactly what Claude wants to do, more than anything else. He looks down at himself, looks in the mirror, looks at Hilda.

“I'm ready.”

_

It's been a struggle and a triumph. He knew that it would be - ever since Dimitri first got the opportunity to really sit down and think about the proposal that he quickly agreed to, he understood that his own agreement would not be the end of it. No, there were detractors, there were infuriated members of his own personal circle, of his political allies, there was a quiet shock at the church once it was announced and the assumption that both of the Blaiddyd and Riegan lines might be lost to history, along with their crests should they decide not to surrogate.

The worst by far was the nobility. Nobles who had been angling for his approval across the land, nobles who had spent months trying to negotiate Dimitri into a favorable marriage with their daughters or sisters now swept into the capitol in rage and disappointment. Disagreements were had, treaties that were once signed were now torn apart, and Dimitri had to not only try to carefully renegotiate with men who no longer had anything to gain from his favor, but also had to ward off the sudden and small influx of their last-ditch attempts to have a family member on the throne by offering their sons to him instead.

More than once, he'd almost risen to a fury, but then Dimitri recalled Claude's hands on his, Claude's eyes, his warm touch and easy smiles. It was all going to be worth it. He just had to keep working.

In the end, they made it through with Fodlan more or less intact. In the end, his nobles excised their disappointment and were convinced that this was the only way forward. Including the marriage clause into the treaty was a stroke of genius from Claude, as it gave Dimitri a perfectly reasonable excuse in the face of anger - it was simply the only way that the peace treaty would be signed, after all, his hands were tied.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but Claude allowed him the easy lie and he took it for the gift it was and used it to pacify the nobility in the end... though now the talks of potential children and surrogates were beginning to rise in whispers. Dimitri has done nothing to dissuade that yet; he believes that there will still be time to sidestep it when the issue actually arises. For now, there is the wedding and for now, there is just himself and Claude.

...and Claude's parents, of course, but their first meeting had gone well, with Claude's father being amused at his overpoliteness, but impressed with his scars. They'd traded brief stories and Dimitri offered up the small anecdote of losing his eye, and that seemed to solidify the bond between them and earn him the favor of the former king. His mother was different - Dimitri couldn't read her, but recognized Claude's personal brand of cleverness in her eyes. Even now, he still doesn't know if she approves or not, but she hasn't tried to stop this yet and so it proceeds.

“I'm pleased that I was able to arrive on time,” Dedue is saying, distracting Dimitri from his thoughts as his various handlers equip him with the finery he's come to expect from this. “The weather conditions were unfavorable through the mountains - I feared I would be too late.”

“I wouldn't have let it start without you.” Dimitri assures him of this in turn and then frowns when Dedue reaches for the sword belt to apply it to him, holding up a hand to stop him. “No - you are my equal as the leader of Duscur. I would prefer if you…”

But Dedue shakes his head, taking the belt anyway, his fingers sliding over the steel filigree along the leather.

“- as your friend,” he tells him, smiling a wistful smile, “nothing would give me more pleasure than to be with you in this moment. Dimitri.”

In the end, it's his name that makes him relent - not _your highness_, not _your majesty_, but his name, like Dedue used to address him when they were young. Dimitri offers him a weak nod then and Dedue steps forward, fastening his belt around him.

The outfit is overly ornate, like the one that he wore to his coronation. Instead of white, the doublet is a rich blue, with gold lining and brocade throughout. It clings tightly to his chest and waist, which the designer said was meant to display his athleticism to those from Almyra, as if to assure them of his power. His sleeves are equally tight around his shoulders, though there is fabric in elegant slashed sleeves that drape from his elbows, leaving his forearms and wrists unadorned, save for the bracelets and signets he wears.

It's tighter and has more buckles and lacings than the Almyran fashion, he thinks, but seems to represent Fodlan's sensibilities well and so he allows it. His hair is braided like usual, but instead of hanging down loosely, its pinned up against his crown, a soft nest of gold on gold that upon first glance, seems difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

He has Claude's earring in his ear, of course. It's the simplest thing about his outfit, but also the most important to him, and he refused to let any of his attendants remove it.

He lets out a breath now when he looks over his reflection in the mirror, eventually meeting Dedue's eyes in the glass.

“Claude will be pleased,” Dedue tells him, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “You look handsome.”

“I hope so,” Dimitri confides, letting a hint of his anxiety leak out. Dedue's head tilts curiously as a result and he steps forward with a warm hand on Dimitri's shoulder.

“You've loved one another - waited for this - for years. He would be pleased if you walked down the aisle in chains.”

The thought makes Dimitri laugh, and he doesn't stop laughing as he recalls how he and Claude had first met again, with Dimitri in the prison cell of Garreg Mach.

“That... that would certainly be quite an impression to make.”

“It would be.” Dedue takes a step back, looking over all of him once final time before nodding, as if deeming Dimitri ready. “I'm happy for the both of you.”

Dimitri nods, looking down at the ground as he considers how far they've come and how much he loves Claude desperately, dearly, how he will finally feel when the two of them are joined in the eyes of all and won't have to hide anything anymore. He wants that more than anything, and so he steps toward the door and takes a deep breath, his heart racing.

“It's time,” he finally says, flexing his stiff fingers, “if you'll find Rodrigue, he'll show you to the rest of my groom's party. The ceremony will start soon.”

Dedue nods and takes his leave and Dimitri tries desperately to calm his nerves while he waits alone for the wedding to begin.

_

This wedding is the first of its kind - two kings, equal in power and rank, joining their hands in union before the nobles and commonfolk of each of their countries. As such, it has to be a bit different than any wedding might normally be, either in Almyra or Fódlan. Luckily, it isn't so terribly difficult to combine their traditions - in Almyra, the ceremony is a relatively simple exchange of vows, and the feast afterwards is what matters. In Fódlan, it is generally the opposite. So they've compromised in the obvious way, with a ceremony led by Rhea in the fortress' chapel followed by a grand feast in the Almyran fashion. It will turn into days of celebrations, smaller feasts thrown by Almyran lords desiring to display their wealth and generosity, contests of art and skill, excuses to show strength and be admired by people from both lands.

It's a lot. It will be overwhelming, Claude knows, for all that he loves a good feast. This has to be an event to mark the beginning of a new era, an event that means far more than simply a celebration of their commitment to one another. It has to be something that will be talked about for years.

He's looking forward to it, but what he's really looking forward to is slipping away with Dimitri. They'll be able to - it'll be expected, really, as newlyweds. They will be expected to be together, to share a bed, to stay by each others' sides.

What Claude has always wanted.

He is nervous still, waiting for the ceremony to start. Hilda has gone to finish the preparations, the final touches, leaving him alone. Claude tries to calm his nerves, tries to remind himself there is no reason to be nervous. It doesn't really help. He knows that it won't, not until he sees Dimitri again.

And then it's time. Somehow, after all of this, all the war, all the pain, all the loss and fear and _work_, it's time. Hilda is the one who comes to get Claude - in a more traditional Fódlan wedding, his parents might walk with him, but he is a king. He will walk alone, and Dimitri will enter at the other side of the chapel, and they will meet in the center.

Outside the doors, Hilda squeezes his arm, then slips inside, leaving him alone again. It feels unreal. It feels like it might be a dream, or like the doors might open and no one will be there, or everyone will be there and they'll be staring at him in disgust, or that he will be there and Dimitri won't. A thousand scenarios of disaster run through Claude's mind, but he recognizes them as what they are: the last of his fear, the last of his nervousness, working its way out.

And then music begins to play. The doors are opened for him. Claude enters the chapel.

On this side, his side, are arrayed all of his friends and allies, even the ones who are not particularly fond of him. Hilda and her brother, Lorenz and his father. Lysithea, Leonie, all of his Golden Deer, who followed him and fought beside him and trusted him before anyone else did. Judith, his fiercest ally in Fódlan. Nader, a head above the crowd, grinning as proudly as if Claude were his own family. A collection of Almyran nobles, those who supported his successful attempt to claim the throne, those who have supported this alliance since the beginning.

His parents, more reserved than Nader in their approval but still there, still smiling, their eyes on him, watching as he steps forward to claim the future he's fought for. They watched him just like this when he took the throne, when the crown he now wears was placed upon his head. They have never been effusive in their support for him, have always expected him to fight through on his own strength, but they are always proud when he does. He takes that for what it is.

Claude meets their eyes. This, now, is still political, all of it - but as he approaches the altar, that seems to fall away. He didn't look before, too worried, perhaps, that something really had gone horribly wrong. But now he does. Now he looks for Dimitri across the chapel, needing desperately to see him, to know that he's there, to know that this is real.

The chapel is full, and the eyes of all are on Claude and Dimitri. Claude knows this, he knows this is really more of a show than anything private, anything just for them - but it doesn't matter. He only has eyes for Dimitri. Dimitri is there, and part of Claude did not expect that. It's a fear lain to rest, seeing him across the aisle, and of course he looks terribly handsome.

Claude always thinks Dimitri is handsome, has seen him in so many ways - dressed for his coronation, in the clothing of a king, the armor of a warrior, the more simple clothing he wears when he has no official business, nothing at all. Claude always finds himself drawn in, drawn to Dimitri's presence and bearing, the familiar and beloved lines of his face. But this - he is handsome, yes, but it's more the knowledge that this is for _Claude_, that he looks so eye-catching because of this moment, these vows they are about to make.

How could Claude look at anything else?

And perhaps Dimitri feels the same way, because he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Claude. Claude knows that Dimitri doesn’t really have a mind for fashion and so he doesn’t know that Claude is wearing a barely-modified ornate version of Almyran wedding garb, but even if he doesn’t recognize it - he seems to like it.

It takes Dimitri a moment to realize that he should start moving again. He does with a little jump start, hasty to catch up to Claude’s slow movement across the converted chapel up to where Rhea is standing.

They meet in front of the altar, close enough to reach out and touch each other. Dimitri’s fingers move for his pocket, and appear again with a ring. It’s beautiful: a silver and ornate thing, lined with precious stones and shining, intertwining bands. Something that may be a little simple for a king, but Claude’s tastes have always been more muted, with less desire for lavish opulence. 

This is the ring that he proposed to Claude with, weeks ago while they were planning the wedding. It hadn’t been a surprise of course, but he said he’d wanted to give Claude something all the same and so he’d taken him out to the library where Claude loved passing the time. After hours, the rooms were dark, but the candles that he’d lit shone like stars, illuminating the metallic arches over them. He’d taken Claude out to the balcony afterward, where there’d been soft bedding and wine waiting, and the two of them had huddled there together under the stars for the remainder of the evening.

It’s a precious memory. One of the nights in his life that Claude holds dear.

They stand on either side of the altar, Rhea behind it. In truth, Claude doesn't pay much attention to her. He can hear her reciting words, announcing their union, the union of their families and their countries. The peace it brings, the prosperity all wish for. But it's more about Fódlan and Almyra than it is about him and Dimitri - and Dimitri is all that he's really paying attention to.

There is light shining through the high window above him, and Dimitri's hair glitters as gold as his crown. Claude thinks he looks happy, excited maybe, thinks he isn't imagining that - Dimitri is looking forward to this as much as he is. To being able to stay at each others' sides, support each other, love each other.

Rhea comes to a pause in her speech, or perhaps it is over - he lost track, gazing at Dimitri. Now is the time for rings and vows, now is the time for something that truly matters to Claude.

His eyes rest on the ring in Dimitri's hand. It's beautiful, and more so because Dimitri chose it thinking of him, more so because he would be - will be - happy to wear it on his hand for the rest of his life. It's not like the golden Almyran jewelry he wears now, the silver makes him think of winter, of Fhirdiad, of Dimitri. He likes that.

He takes Dimitri's ring out, holds it in his hand. It's the same one he gave Dimitri the day of his own proposal, when they were alone in his room after so, so long apart. He holds it and looks at Dimitri, and does not yet extend his own hand.

Rhea bows her head, says something about vows that bind one to another. Claude supposes that's his cue.

“I promise to stand by your side, to provide you with my counsel and to heed yours. I offer you the gold of my family, the bounty of my lands, the strength of our warriors. All that is mine will be yours, and all that is yours, mine.”

Almyran vows - or close enough to please his councilors. Claude says them with sincerity. This may be only a ceremony, may be more a political show than anything, but he means everything that he says.

“No matter what may come, I will honor you and care for you.”

And then, quietly, because this isn't for anyone else:

“I will love you.”

It's quiet, yes, but what does he care if they hear? What can they do now? The treaty is signed, Claude has said his vows. They can write it off as a fabrication if they wish, an attempt to ease the sting of a political union, or take it as the truth it is. He doesn't care. He only cares that Dimitri hears it.

And Dimitri does. Claude sees his eyes well up with tears, Dimitri’s emotions so close to the surface. He tries to blink them away but it's difficult when he's so overwrought with emotion like this. Instead, he moves closer, reaching out with his free hand to clasp at Claude's own, holding him firmly, with certainty.

“As for myself...” Dimitri takes a moment, breathes. Then he delicately slips the ring onto Claude's finger, the emeralds gleaming within it cut like stars. He chose them for the green of Claude’s eyes, or so he whispered in Claude’s ear as they lay close together on that balcony, breathing each other in. “...I vow to you that I will be with you in all things. You have my loyalty, my honor, my heart. I will fight for you, I will die for you... I will give you every part of me, as I cherish every part of you.”

Dimitri splays his fingers out against Claude's hand, until their palms are pressed flatly together. His scar from Edelgard's dagger presses into the flat of Claude's hand, ever-present and rough against the softer part of his skin. In a more traditional Faerghus ceremony, there would be cuts made to their hands, blood let and mingled, but Dimitri had decided against it for this wedding as a small favor to the both of them. Instead, he lifts their hands so that Rhea can step forward, wrap an elegant ribbon around both of their palms, and join them in a tradition performed more commonly in the Alliance.

He speaks again as Rhea's nimble fingers work at the ribbon.

“May this tie represent our bonds to one another. I will be your right hand - I will feed you, clothe you, shelter you. When you are sick, I will nurse you back to health. When you are tired, I will watch over you while you sleep. Our bond will not be broken; not by blades, not by poison, not by the eternal flames themselves.”

Dimitri lets out a long breath, his traditional vows complete, and the tips of his fingers flex slightly against Claude's own, a reassurance. The recitations seem to have helped him to keep himself in check and now he smiles with affection as he steps in closer, the next part murmured between them.

“I would fight a thousand wars for you, my love. I am yours now, always and forever.”

Claude's heart is beating hard. He wants to cling to Dimitri's hand, throw himself into the other man's arms. He loves Dimitri with all of himself, and these vows, this concrete proof of their love and dedication - it's so real, so important, that it's almost difficult for him to stand it. Part of Claude, the part that's always been alone and distrustful of others, wants to run because it's all too much.

But that's a small part, a voice screaming in the very back of his mind. _This can't be for you, someone as loyal and good as Dimitri could never love you this much._ It's there, but it's nothing he could possibly pay attention to while Dimitri is here in front of him, while they're being bound together. This is real, this is happening. Dimitri loves him, loves him enough to marry him, to spend the rest of their lives together.

He smiles at Dimitri, a real and true thing. Rhea, next to them, has the faintest smile on her lips. He hears her say _may the Goddess bless this union until the end of both your lives and beyond_, and then she steps back, leaving their hands together, wrapped in ribbon.

And Claude knows what to do here. He leans in, stretching up a bit and knowing that Dimitri will lean down in return so that Claude can kiss him, so that they can kiss each other. And it is not quite the careful, chaste peck that people might expect from a pair wedded for political reasons. There's no reason to keep up the facade any longer, and Claude wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to.

He kisses Dimitri properly, a real kiss, full of all the emotion and love that he's feeling in this moment, the indescribable bliss, the amazement that they were able to get here. That despite everything they survived, they have fought their way to this point.

It lasts a bit longer than those watching might expect.

And then there is a hymn, sung to mark the end of the ceremony, and - and it's done. Rhea steps forward again to help them remove the ribbon - it will be saved and given to them as a remembrance of this moment. They leave before the onlookers stand, and this time they leave together, side by side down the aisle.

Claude reaches out to take Dimitri's hand, hidden between them, and squeeze it. He doesn't let go. He's allowed to do this now.

They have a feast to go to immediately after this, and Claude is looking forward to it - they'll hear speeches from friends and allies, watch shows of skill and strength, eat plenty of food. And they'll get to sit together, and talk to each other, and if he wants to kiss Dimitri he _can_, and then - the feast will stretch late into the night, and festivities will continue tomorrow, but they won't be expected to stay so late. As newlyweds, they can leave early in the night, leave together, spend their night in the same bed.

Just as they will be able to from now on.

He feels like he’s walking on air, like this couldn’t be real. He’s wanted it for so long, and now - now it’s real. Now he leaves the chapel at Dimitri’s side, surrounded by their friends and allies. Claude can’t keep a smile on his face, and as they settle into the feast, he just - lets himself be happy.

The feast is wonderful of course and they eat well. Claude amuses himself by putting small delicacies on Dimitri’s plate, watching as he tries them one after another. He cannot taste them even so, but Claude knows that he enjoys the act of it, the symbolic gesture of eating Almyran food, of having Claude lift a small morsel to his lips and nipping it from his fingers. It becomes apparent very quickly that the two of them are not merely in this for political purposes, or at least Claude thinks that it does. He has to reconsider after several hours into the feast when Ignatz comes up to them, nervous but proud as he unveils a painting he'd done for the wedding, one of Claude and Dimitri fighting in... Claude thinks it’s Fort Merceus.

Either way, it's gorgeous and Dimitri thanks the artist profusely. Ignatz flushes at the praise as he hands it to an attendant to be put with the other wedding gifts and turns his face down toward the floor.

“I'm just sad that the two of you can't choose something you love, like I did,” he tells them, and Dimitri tilts his head quizzically for a moment. Ignatz clarifies a moment later, wringing his hands before them. “But I'm - I'm sure that the treaty wouldn't be broken if you were to take lovers, right? You can still have a chance at love, even outside of this union…”

There's a long pause as both Dimitri and Claude finally understand what he means. Claude sees an embarrassed flush rise to Dimitri’s cheeks as he tries to figure out an eloquent way to respond to that. His hand reaches for Claude's under the table and he opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get out the words, Felix scoffs.

“Are you _serious_?” He stares dead-eyed at Ignatz, and at least there's only a small group of people directly around them, just Dimitri and Claude at the center of the table, with Felix and Dedue on one side and Marianne and Hilda on the other, at least this didn't happen during the actual wedding, but Dimitri looks absolutely mortified nevertheless when Felix continues. “They've been sleeping together since the middle of the war. Come on, you _had_ to guess that.”

“Felix -” Dimitri starts, but Ingrid has already overheard and is already kicking him under the table, her eyes fiery. Felix hisses in complaint, pulling his leg back.

“What? We all knew that the boar found a chew toy. It's not like they were _subtle_.”

Ignatz is a deep scarlet by now and stumbles back while Dimitri - well, he's been getting better at damage control, but Felix has always been a bit of a weak spot with him, and as Ingrid hisses 'you couldn't make it through one dinner, Felix?' he looks like he just wants to melt into the floor.

Eyota is already turning toward Ingrid, having not been part of the conversation before now but definitely beginning to notice Ingrid's rising heat pointing toward the surly boy who folds his arms in a huff.

Dimitri's fingers twist against Claude in a silent plea for help. Claude has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, and he only manages that because Dimitri is so obviously embarrassed. Hilda, next to him, is openly laughing - not exactly in a mean way, but it's Hilda, so it's not _not_ in a mean way. He squeezes Dimitri's hand, gently.

“To be fair, we were _trying_ to keep it a secret. So if you didn't notice - well, I'll take it as a compliment.”

He winks at Ignatz, who may still not be entirely comfortable around Dimitri and his friends, but who is used to Claude's ways. His shoulders relax a little, though he still looks terribly embarrassed, so Claude keeps going.

“You know, forbidden love and all that. I seduce the king, it becomes a huge scandal, everyone chases after Dimitri trying to figure out how he landed such a great catch.” Joking, of course, Claude smiles up at Dimitri - his _husband_, Goddess, it's incredible to even think it - and runs his thumb across Dimitri's fingers beneath the table. “We did try to keep it quiet.” His smile is far too fond, bordering on adoring, when he looks at Dimitri. He can't help it.

“Forbidden love, huh…” Ignatz begins to smile, his eyes distant as he clearly begins thinking of something else. Another painting, certainly, and the embarrassment seems to fade away as he's caught up in his art. “The lion and the deer.”

“No!” Hilda sees the look in Ignatz's eyes and smacks the table, a frown on her face. “You owe me a portrait of Marianne still, you promised you'd have it done before our wedding! Don't let these two melodramatic idiots distract you!”

Marianne blushes, murmuring something about it still being a year away, and Ignatz flushes too, embarrassed by the in fact very obvious inspiration that's come over him. Hilda distracts him easily - possibly unintentionally, but with Hilda you never know - and the moment is hopefully saved.

Claude looks up at Dimitri, and though he quite likes the blush on his new husband's face, he thinks he's managed to minimize the embarrassment. For now.

He's never quite known if Felix approves of their relationship. He's never quite cared, either, just as he's never cared if anyone else has - he loves Dimitri, and Dimitri loves him, and anyone else's opinions don't matter at all. But he wonders now, and because he wouldn't be Claude if he didn't sometimes enjoy causing problems on purpose, he smiles at Felix and says,

“Anyway, it was nice of you to cover for us. Thanks to you and Sylvain being so obvious, the gossip during the war mostly passed us right by. We owe you one.”

All the better for being _true_, and scandalous while still being significantly less of a disaster than public knowledge that the Alliance leader and the King of Faerghus were spending their nights together. Claude definitely took advantage of that to push the inevitable army chatter away from him and Dimitri - he has no regrets.

He's also partway through his second glass of wine, which has loosened his lips a bit. Claude doesn't usually drink much, and doesn't intend to get drunk tonight - not when he will finally be able to spend it openly with Dimitri - but he is definitely celebrating.

Dimitri’s gaze is on him, Claude can feel it. He knows why, he thinks - it’s shocking even for him to finally admit to what they have, who they are to each other, openly.

But this sort of thing is allowed now, he's able to talk about their relationship to those outside of their very small personal circles, no one can stop them now that the deed has been done and the marriage is official. Claude is only truly realizing it now, and he thinks Dimitri is as well.

Dimitri stares at him as he speaks, ignoring Felix's mad flush and the way his childhood friend turns away quite suddenly and excuses himself among Ingrid and Hilda's laughter. He watches the smile at the corner of Claude's mouth, the light in his eye, and Claude catches that look and thinks - my husband. Married in front of everyone, the treaty between their nations sealed with a kiss. A hand that he can hold in front of everyone else. No more hiding this integral part of either of them.

Dimitri is flushed and a little wine drunk too and it makes him daring, so daring that he leans in toward Claude. Dimitri almost loses his nerve, hesitates, and casts a quick glance around them, but in the end, he cups Claude's face in his palm and leans in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

Sylvain whoops from somewhere down the table and Ingrid gives a quiet cheer, tipping her glass to them before drinking and Dimitri pulls back, still bright red but when he turns back to his food he is smiling, all his earlier embarrassment gone.

“Congratulations to you both,” Dedue offers once the noise has died down. Claude looks over to him as he raises a glass, his smile warm and affectionate. “To the king of Fódlan and the king of Almyra. May their rule be long and prosperous.”

Dimitri reaches up to clink his glass along with Claude and the others. “And to the leader of Duscur - thank you for sharing in our celebrations as an honored guest.”

As they drink, Claude thinks that he sees Dedue's gaze flit somewhere else, looking for someone not at the table. It could just be a trick of the light, but Claude’s thoughts flicker to their young spymaster, attending to business instead of sitting at the table with his king. That’s not for him to meddle in, though - at least not yet.

Dimtri drinks deeply and turns his gaze back toward Claude, his hand reaching down to find Claude's fingers under the table again.

“What do you think?” he asks, still smiling, as if he is unable to stop. “I know how much you love secrets. Sad to give this one away?”

He's not sure he's ever seen Dimitri so happy. Claude remembers those days during the war, when Dimitri fought for every scrap of sanity, when happiness seemed like nothing more than a dream. Something that they could hope for someday, but nothing that anyone could really believe in.

And now they have this. Peace throughout Fódlan, peace in Almyra as well. Each country extending the hand of friendship to one another - and, Claude hopes, someday the rest of the world as well. Duscur, Brigid, Dagda. This might be just the beginning, but what a beginning it is.

It's not just peace they've fought for, but the chance to be happy, as well. Happy without compromise, happy without hiding it. Claude could have spent the rest of his life as Dimitri's lover and advisor, and he would have been happy enough doing so, but they never would have been able to hold hands like this, he would never know the singular joy of wearing Dimitri's ring, showing everyone that he belongs to someone. That Dimitri wants _him_, has chosen him, despite everything, despite all the voices in Claude's past that were sure no one would ever do so.

He would never have been able to have this: Dimitri next to him, warm and content, with a smile that beams happiness. Knowing that he can have this tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. That he can wake to Dimitri and fall asleep next to him, that he can trust that Dimitri will never leave him, never betray him.

Claude has a clever tongue, but he doesn't have words to express all that means to him. He tangles his fingers with Dimitri's and smiles.

“Sneaking around was fun, but I think being able to kiss you in public will be a thousand times better.” He has no doubt about that, in fact. “I'm happy for the world to know that we belong to each other.” Claude says it gently, and he raises their hands for only a moment, only long enough so that he can press a kiss to the back of Dimitri's hand, lips soft against the scar there.

Claude's mother approaches, the slightest of smiles on her lips as she sees them.

“King Dimitri,” she says it with the respect due from the former Almyran king's consort - not the courtesies Dimitri could expect from one of his subjects, for all that her skin and eyes mark her Fódlan origins clearly, “I can tell you from experience that many Almyrans will have difficulty accepting you as their king's consort. But I'm looking forward to seeing you change their minds.” 

Her smile grows stronger, and her eyes flicker to Claude. “My son has already cut a path with the blade you gifted him. It seems appropriate that you should walk it by his side.”

And, her blessing given, she is about to walk away - but she pauses, and lowers her voice so that only Dimitri and Claude can easily hear her. Her polite smile slips away. She speaks directly to Dimitri, and does not even look at her son. “I owe you a great debt for what you've given him. I think I didn't realize how often Claude's smiles were false until I saw him smile at you.” She pauses again, as if to say something more, but instead she just inclines her head to them both. “I'm grateful.”

She returns to her seat, and Claude watches her go, hand still in Dimitri's. There's too much history there, too much that his parents did or didn't do. Claude loves them both, but with distance he knows that the lonely boy he was - the lonely boy he has been for his whole life - was created in great part by their actions.

So he doesn't really know what to think of that. He decides, in the end, to take it for what it is - entrusting his heart to Dimitri, perhaps. It was never theirs to give away, but he knows now that they approve. When he looks at Dimitri, his gaze is tender, though his smile verges on teasing.

“You even won my mom over. You're way too charming for your own good, Mitya.”

Dimitri was quiet when Claude's mother came forward to speak to him, his expression carefully blank and polite. Claude has rarely spoken of his parents to Dimitri, so he doesn’t know what Dimitri must think of them. He isn’t entirely sure he wants to know. Both of them have been marked in many ways by those who bore them, who raised them. But now, he thinks, they are living their own lives, forging their own paths.

Together.

“Well, it's as she says,” Dimitri starts, looking back toward Claude, the faintest smile returning to his lips. “I'll have to be a great deal more charming if I'm to be accepted in Almyra. And I plan to be.”

Dimitri reaches for him then, he's allowed to - his fingers slide along Claude's cheek, tucking the strand of hair behind his ear and letting his fingers fall to touch the shining bit of gold at his ear. “I'll do everything I can to prove myself to them. You're worth all of that and more.”

Claude lets himself lean into that touch. “I think you'll win them over before you know it.”

Charm, after all, isn't the most important thing to many Almyrans - and what is, Dimitri has in spades. It's likely that some will never like him, that some will always oppose this marriage, but that doesn't bother Claude. After all, there are those who will never like him, either, and he's never let that stop him.

He wants to show Dimitri Almyra. He wants to walk along the streets of the capital, go to the bustling markets. He wants to take Dimitri up on his wyvern, fly above the crowds, out of the city, show him the sunrise on the plains. The sky filling with light, the world spreading out around them. He wants to show Dimitri all the best parts of Almyra, and though he knows that they can't avoid the worst parts, he still wants Dimitri to have a chance to love it the way he does. The way he loves Fódlan.

Claude smiles again and reaches out to claim Dimitri's hand. Surely this will get old eventually - the ability to reach out and touch him, to show his affection, to let the world see they belong to each other - but Claude doesn't think it'll happen anytime soon.

“They'll love you. Not as much as me, of course, but they'll still love you.”

Claude feels pretty sure that for all the love Dimitri rightfully receives, no one out there loves him with the solid, burning certainty that Claude feels every time he looks at him. It's a feeling that makes the world seem - beautiful, and full of possibility, and safe. As if, so long as he is by Dimitri's side, he has someplace that will always be home.

In true Almyran fashion, this feast will go all night, and tomorrow, and the day after that. Claude likes that, always has, but admittedly - he has no intention of staying the whole time.

He leans in to Dimitri, lips close to his ear.

“Let me know when you're tired of this. I'm looking forward to being in your bed again.”

Likely they'll make a ruckus when he and Dimitri leave - knowing what's meant to come after. He hopes Dimitri doesn't find it too embarrassing. For Claude, all he can do is be excited and happy that he has this, that they're allowed this, that he gets to spend tonight in Dimitri's bed and every night after this.

Of course, he's pretty much been doing that already. But this - this is different. This is what they fought for, what they won, what they've wished for all this time. Finally.

Dimitri's eyes go a little wide when Claude leans into him like that. His cheeks flush and he bites back a smile, looking away as he collects himself.

“I want nothing else,” he finally says, looking back toward Claude, that smile still tugging at his mouth. “You're going to regret making me think about that now... it's all I'll be able to focus on for the rest of the night.”

But really, who can blame him? It’s all Claude is thinking of now - getting Dimitri alone, peeling him out of all those beautiful clothes, spending their first night together in their marriage bed. It doesn’t seem to matter that they’ve already done so much together - Claude thinks this will still mean something. A promise.

“Let's plan a diversion.” No one can say that Dimitri hasn't learned from Claude in these years they've spent together, and his gaze turns challenging, mischievous as he raises an eyebrow toward Claude. “So that we can slip away without being accosted.”

Claude can't help but grin that that - the clear proof that he’s rubbing off on Dimitri. “I think we can manage that.”

As usual, Claude always seems to have some kind of scheme up his sleeve. He hadn't planned this, but if Dimitri wants to slip out without attracting too much attention, then Claude is pretty sure he can deliver. He beckons Raphael over with an easy smile.

“Did you know that Nader once lifted his own wyvern in a contest of strength? Dimitri and I were just talking, wondering if there was anyone from Fódlan who could match that kind of strength. Your name came up, and since it _is_ traditional for there to be displays of strength at an Almyran wedding, I thought... oh, but don't worry if you feel like you can't.”

And really, that's all it takes. Raphael puffs up at both the thought that Nader might be stronger and the idea of performing for a crowd, and before anyone can stop it he's trotted off to give Nader a friendly challenge. And who among the attendees of the feast wouldn't want to see a contest of strength between two such men? There's a near-universal interest, save for some who are worried about the chaos that may be caused. Tables are moved, space is made, onlookers cluster together -

And among all of it, attention is off the newly married couple almost completely.

Oh, it's not foolproof. Hilda _definitely_ notices what they're doing, and Claude thinks Dedue and Sylvain do as well. But their friends are kind enough not to call attention to it, not to disrupt Claude's haphazard scheme.

He smiles at Dimitri.

“Here's our chance.”

And, taking Dimitri's hand, he tugs his husband from the table just as Nader is climbing atop a chair to proclaim that he is, in fact, the strongest man in both countries and will prove it. There are no eyes on them. Their escape is complete. They slip away into the halls of the fortress, hand in hand.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Claude celebrate their wedding night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have some more BEAUTIFUL FANART for this fic from our lovely artists, thank you guys SO MUCH!
> 
> [An 11 page comic](https://twitter.com/rawmettwurst/status/1233938915133882370) based off of a sequence in Chapter 4, by [Marlon](https://twitter.com/rawmettwurst)!!!
> 
> [This beautiful fanart](https://twitter.com/yomiartsy/status/1233869659579002889?s=21) which is a culmination of Chapters 9 and 10 by [Yomi](https://twitter.com/Yomiartsy)!
> 
> You are all the best - we love you so much!

Dimitri is still a little tipsy from the wine, just enough to make his world blur at the edges in a pleasant sort of way. He used to loathe being drunk, as that would often be a cause for the voices to start filtering in, but it's easy to shut them out when Claude is nearby, to reach for his hand and let his touch remind him of what's real.

He does that now, reaching out for Claude's hand to tug him back toward his rooms. With the wedding over and the feast dying down, it's expected that the newlywed couple would want to sneak off on their own, but Dimitri hadn't wanted all the fanfare and attention that might come if they were noticed by others. Luckily, Claude seems to feel the same and feels no shame about sneaking away from a feast thrown in their honor - as a matter of fact, Dimitri suspects that Claude is just as pleased as he is, especially when he closes the gap between them for a long and drawn out kiss.

“Shall I carry you across the threshold?” He asks, smiling as he pulls away and tugs Claude's hand to come closer to him, further down the hall and toward his personal quarters. Claude doesn't even bother responding, merely laughs at what seems like a joke - little does he know that Dimitri is being entirely serious.

They hadn't bothered to wait until they were wed to share a bed once more and relearning one another's bodies had come to them easily. Dimitri remembers everything: the crook of Claude's elbow, the soft curve of his thigh, kept fresh in his mind by the fantasies he'd entertained for the past few years. Now that Claude is real and eager before him, who could blame him for refusing to wait?

Dimitri _does_ pick him up when they're close to his room, pulling him closer by the arm before dipping down to get his hand under Claude's knee while Claude instinctively wraps his arms around Dimitri’s neck. From there, it’s simple to carry him through the threshold, careful not to hit his head or feet on the door frame.

“Your wedding bed awaits, my love.”

It's said in jest, but there's still a layer of earnest longing beneath it - Dimitri is nothing if he is not traditional and heartfelt and he feels that here, stepping into his rooms while taking care not to hit Claude's head or his feet on the doorway.

His rooms are transformed for the event, much to his earlier embarrassment when it was being arranged. He can't say he doesn't appreciate it even so: there are candles lit in every corner of the room, his bedspread exchanged for a luxurious down comforter with rich blues and lovely golds with imagery of a lion and a deer beside one another patterned into the fabric. The rugs have been changed from his usual skins to something soft and fluffy, comfortable between one's toes should they go barefoot. The fire is already crackling, having been tended to recently, and instead of paperwork his desk hosts a myriad of sweet morsels to nibble on, as well as a bottle of wine perched between two glasses.

“You don't suppose,” Dimitri starts, arching an eyebrow down toward Claude as he hefts him up higher for a little kiss, “that they still believe that this is a political union, do you?”

Claude’s smile is sly, immensely pleased with himself and he wraps his arms tighter around Dimitri’s shoulders.

“I think your servants may have figured it out awhile ago. The real question might be how long the rest of the Kingdom keeps believing it.”

Not that it matters anymore, really. It was a good pretext to keep the nobles more or less in line - if he needed to marry for an Almyran alliance, he couldn't be blamed for his choice. But they're married now, and it can't be undone. Rumors will fly, and maybe the truth will get out, and what can anyone do? He is Claude’s and Claude’s is his.

Claude shifts one of his arms so that he can touch his face, stroking at Dimitri’s cheek with a wistful smile tugging at his lips.

“I think no matter what people are saying now, we'll go down in history as a love match. I intend to adore you so much that no one can deny it.” Claude smiles with it and Dimitri’s heart swells, tipping his head into the touch as if it’s the only source of warmth in the room. “Now put me down so I can take all of those gorgeous clothes off you.”

Dimitri acquiesces, gently setting Claude down near his bed, letting his feet touch the floor instead of dumping him unceremoniously onto the mattress as he's done many times in the past. Claude has a point: Dimitri's outfit is once again impossible to remove on his own in any short period of time and he needs help with the fine lacings on his wrist and at his waist.

“I'm beginning to see the appeal of Almyran fashion,” he jokes as they start to work on it, rough hands loosening the strings and tugging them through the small eyelets. It would be going much faster, except Dimitri has to stop to kiss Claude over and over again throughout the process.

Once his sleeves and front are finally unlaced though, he's free to shrug out of the meticulously-crafted jacket and leaves it hanging on the bottom post of the bed, using his now-freed hands to grasp Claude's face and pull him closer into a kiss.

“What will it be, then?” he asks, kissing at Claude's jaw and working his hands into the other man's shirt, divesting him of his own various ties and buckles so that it can be pulled off of him as well. “Two close friends who fell in love after a political marriage?”

Dimitri has to take a step back to tug off his undershirt, letting it fall to the floor and pushing Claude back to sit on the bed. Instead of crawling over him, Dimitri crouches at his feet, his hands moving for Claude's boots to unlace them deftly, his eye never leaving Claude's face.

“Or two generals who fell in love during the war?” One boot off, and Dimitri leans in to kiss at Claude's fabric-covered knee, dipping his head down to press his lips against his calf while his fingers slide over to the other shoe. “-and waited for one another before arranging a marriage that suits both of their lands?”

Both options sound hopelessly romantic to him, though one is closer to the truth than the other. With both of Claude's shoes off now, Dimitri is free to join him up on the bed and he kicks off his own shoes to do so before engulfing him in another kiss.

Claude smiles in response, tipping his chin back to kiss him.

“I think I'll let them decide,” he reasons, and Dimitri figures that it’s for the best.

The two of them tangle on the bed, with Dimitri pushing Claude back onto his back, covering him with his body in a way that he knows makes both of them feel safer, more secure. They kiss again, sweet but hungry, and Claude breaks the kiss early to pull back, looking over Dimitri’s features in the half-light of the candles with admiration in his eyes.

“I've been wanting to touch you all day.” Claude does so now, sliding his hands down Dimitri's chest, tracing what Dimitri knows are his map of scars. “I - never thought I could have this, you know. I never thought anyone would want me the way you do.”

Claude says that last part softly, as if he’s afraid to say it even now. He hardly ever speaks of this, Dimitri knows - Claude’s insecurities are buried deep within him and hidden from everyone around him. That he gets to see Claude open up this way is both reassuring and heartbreaking. 

“Claude…” he starts, but doesn’t know how to continue. Claude is already moving on though, burying that weakness again now that he’s admitted it and he leans up to kiss Dimitri again, his hand sliding downward, touching Dimitri through the fabric of his trousers.

“Let me take care of you,” he asks softly, “I want to make you feel so good you can't think about anything but me.”

Dimitri rolls, his shoulders hitting the mattress as he arches into Claude's touch, closing his good eye and reaching up to him, letting his fingers slide along Claude's soft skin. It's less marred than his own, but he still enjoys all the scars that he can find, likes setting his teeth to them when the moment is right.

But now, it's all about Claude and what he's doing to him - Claude's hand over his cock, separated by a few layers of fabric and making Dimitri squirm in place as he rocks up against him.

“I want that,” he admits breathily, biting at his lower lip, “want you.”

Any way he can have him, but this is a good start. Dimitri takes a hand off of Claude's shoulders to reach down and finish unlacing his pants, shifting his hips so that Claude has more room to work with and more ability to push them down if he chooses.

“Seeing you up there, pledging yourself to me... Claude, this is real.” He gasps in a deep breath, tries not to let emotion overcome him, and only partially succeeds. “I wake up sometimes and you're in my arms and - _ah_, I think about how we're going to have this forever, because of you.”

It's sentimental, emotional, but he can't help it. They're _married_ now, and it feels so real, and he wouldn't trade anything for this moment.

“I don't know if it feels real to me yet.” Claude laughs, a bit self-deprecating. “I'm not sure it will until I'm sitting next to you in the throne room in Fhirdiad, as your consort - or until you're next to me as I sit on the Almyran throne. But everything was worth it so long as it brought us here.” 

Dimitri lifts his hand to Claude’s face, stroking his thumb over his husband’s high cheekbone. In response, Claude leans down, pressing his mouth to his chest, his stomach, his trickster fingers tugging the hem of his pants down.

“It was. No nightmare can linger when I wake up and see your radiance,” Dimitri admits, his heart feeling as if it might burst with his sentimentality, “I feel as if I'll never know fear again.”

With that, he reaches out to Claude, to strip away the last of his clothing as Claude tugs his own undergarments off. Dimitri once thought that this sort of vulnerability was a weakness, but being with Claude, how can he not want to be that way? How can he not want to say these things to him?

It feels better once they're fully naked together, the way that Dimitri loves to be with Claude. He loves the act of this of course, but there's also something wonderful about the way his skin slides against Claude in their casual touches, that he could just reach out and _feel_ him anywhere.

He does that now, stroking his thumb up Claude's collarbone, tracing the line of his tender throat until he can cup Claude's cheek in his hand, watching him with adoration and letting him go when Claude breaks the touch to bend downward and press a kiss to his knee, his thigh.

“I feel like anything is possible,” Claude tells him between kisses, “so long as I have you with me.”

Claude seems to deliberately ignore his cock, which Dimitri honestly almost appreciates, because he doesn’t know how long he can hold out when he feels _this_ much. Instead, Claude moves upwards still, mouthing at his stomach and chest and shoulders, pressing a kiss to his jaw and then his lips. A sweet kiss that turns hungry as Claude leans into it, and Dimitri reaches up to thread fingers through his hair.

They part, breathless, and Claude smiles down at him.

“I love you, my husband.” Just that word - _husband_ \- sets Dimitri’s heart ablaze, and he wants nothing more than to return the sentiment, to say it, _I love you too_, but Claude continues, the adoration in his eyes turning mischievous.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Dimitri stares at him a moment, the sudden shift in tone a little too fast for him to catch up with right away, but as soon as the question processes in his mind, he answers:

“_Yes_, alright.”

It’s enthusiastic, quick, and he takes in a deep breath before reaching up after a moment to tug the scrap of fancy fabric from his face and toss his eyepatch to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

It's hard to be self conscious anyway, when your husband is offering to fuck you.

Dimitri moves to sit up on his elbows, leaning in for another languid kiss as he slots Claude carefully between his legs, shifting his knee so that he can rub at Claude's hip with the inside of his thigh.

“The oil - ” well, Claude knows where it is. They've used it regularly since Claude's return after all, and Dimitri was sure to keep it available for tonight, this night that matters so much to the both of them.

Claude pulls away long enough to get the it and Dimitri laments his loss for a brief moment before Claude returns to his side, settling between Dimitri’s legs.

“You're all mine now,” Claude teases, smiling as he presses a kiss to Dimitri's stomach. Dimitri wants immediately to wrap Claude back up in his arms, but before he can do so, Claude's clever fingers are already back around his cock. 

He can't help but to press up into the touch, his spine arching back against the bed. His legs part so that Claude can lay between them and he can feel Claude's hand sliding between his thighs, up against this tender part of him. Just the touch of Claude’s fingertips against his hole has him biting at his lip, and he can't help but to lean up for a desperate kiss when Claude finally breaches him, the insistent press of his finger both invasive and _perfect_.

“I can think of nowhere else I'd rather be,” he says on a breath, shifting his hips - though whether it's into Claude's hand or against his prying finger is impossible to say. Dimitri reaches out to clutch at Claude's shoulder, keeping him close, feeling his warmth against him, gentle and reassuring, and feels so taken _care_ of that it's easy to relax, to take him in fully and murmur soft about how good it feels.

“I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world. You have my heart, my body - all of me.”

It's getting a tad more difficult to offer Claude these reassurances and compliments with what Claude is doing with his hands, and Dimitri eventually lets go of him to lay back fully against the bed, get his feet under him and rock back against his hand as best he can. 

It's an easy rhythm that they've both adapted to: Claude can read his body better than anyone and knows exactly what he likes and just how to set him off, while Dimitri thoroughly enjoys doing the same in turn. Like this, with Claude tending to him, Dimitri is almost worried that he'll spend too soon - but of course, he gets the feeling that Claude will stop before it gets to that point.

Claude senses his peak almost before Dimitri does and eases off of the pressure on both points of him, shushing him under his breath, his lips quirking upward.

“Wait for me. I want us to come together.”

Dimitri lets out a soft sound but nods at his explanation, not quite trusting his voice at the moment. He wants that too, he wants to feel Claude's pleasure when it overtakes him, and he's glad that Claude at least is more responsible than him when it comes to meeting that goal.

Still, the fingers inside of him keep moving, keep pressing _deep_ into him and it's more than enough to keep him lingering there at the pleasurable edge, pressing back down against Claude's hand and trying not to make any more embarrassing noises. It's good, it feels _so_ good to have Claude pressing against him like that and Dimitri trusts him more than he's ever trusted anyone.

“I want all of you, Mitya,” Claude is saying, and Dimitri watches as he pulls back, grasps at the oil, and moves to slick himself up. “I want to give you all of myself, too - anything you want. Everything you want.”

“Goddess, Claude - I only want you.”

He breathes it out, unable to stop himself from watching, enraptured as Claude touches himself. Dimitri wants to help but he doesn't have the oil - so he hopes it's enough for him to reach out and press his palm against Claude's face, tracing his thumb along his cheekbone.

“Though... maybe you can lay back.” He says it softly as the thought strikes him and he moves up on his elbows with a little smile, pressing a quick kiss to Claude's brow. “-and I could get on top of you.”

He's thought about it - it's so _wonderful_ when Claude does it to him, he loves nothing more than he loves the firmness of Claude's thighs spread around him, the lovely shape of his chest above him, watching as he flings his head back in pleasure... Dimitri wants that too, wants to feel it from the other side, wants to give Claude exactly what he's been given and make him love it just as much.

He hopes it's not too odd of a request. Dimitri doesn't usually ask for things in bed - he's more of the mind that everything they do together is wonderful and he's still bashful enough to be shy about it. But still... he has a feeling Claude won't mind.

“Mm... I'd like that,” Claude admits and Dimitri feels himself brightening. He doesn’t make it easy for Claude to pull away though: he kisses him, nipping at his bottom lip, his fingers splayed across his shoulders as Claude pulls him back, further on top of him.

It would be easy like this, Dimitri thinks, to just press together like they do sometimes, to rut against one another until they both find their completion - but he has something else in mind.

“Take it at your own pace,” Claude reminds him when he finally lays back against the bed, “I want you any way I can have you.”

The thought of it is intoxicating and Dimitri feels a rush of power to have Claude do as he asks, to have Claude look up at him with warm eyes, his hands sliding to Dimitri’s hips, his expression darker with lust. He wants to sate him; Dimitri wants to give Claude everything and more and so he slides up alongside him, balancing as he lifts his knee to straddle his hips, feeling the warm press of Claude's slickened cock on the underside of his balls.

Dimitri lets out a breath through his nose and recalls Claude's encouragement. In the end, it's Claude's fingers tightening on his hips that get him to finally _move_, lifting up on his knees and reaching behind him for Claude's cock, grasping it firmly and shifting his position just a little. It puts him in a bit of a precarious balance, but when he finally lines him up, Dimitri's gaze cuts upward to Claude's eyes and he bites at his lower lip as he starts to sink down onto him.

He whimpers - he can't help it, it's thick and full and so much more unyielding than just Claude's fingers were, but it also feels so _good_ inside of him that he thinks he might go out of his mind with wanting. Eventually his modesty gets the better of him and he glances away, flushing dark in his cheeks as he holds himself up and _goddess_, he's barely gotten a third of it inside.

“Claude…” he practically whispers it, adjusting to the size of him, taking it slow but wanting more all the same. Dimitri rocks his hips downward in tentative little thrusts, taking more of him in each time, until he's finally, _finally_ fully seated on Claude's hips and can relax his trembling thighs onto the bed.

Dimitri leans forward just a little, careful of the angle that Claude is inside of him, to press his hands against Claude's chest for easier balance, his hair hanging low beneath his chin.

“You feel... I can't even describe it.” He breathes again - forces himself too, really - and feels heat rushing to his cheeks again. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Claude says back, breathless, his hands tight on Dimitri’s hips, his mouth red from biting at his own lip. “Ah - I see why you like it when I do this,” he continues, his voice tight, “you look so good like that. Above me like that - all I can see is you. All I can _feel_ is you.”

Dimitri watches as one of Claude’s hands slides downward, wrapping fingers around his cock - irritatingly light and teasing, but _present_ all the same. He wants him to move faster. He wants him to - to lay there and _take_ this.

“Good,” he finds himself saying, breathless with desire and with the sensation of Claude pressed up against him, _inside_ of him. It takes Dimitri a long few moments to fully adjust and feel comfortable moving again, but when he does, he tries a slow careful shift of his hips - not quite pulling up off of him, but shifting around him, making _friction_, beautiful friction, which leaves them both gasping.

“...I only want you to look at me.”

It's selfish and generally a bit more coy than he's used to being, but he likes this. Having all of Claude's attention, all of his brilliant focus and strategic mind centered entirely on him... well, it makes Dimitri feel as if he's the center of the world, like nothing else matters except for the slow roll of his hips and the way it presses Claude's cock _deeper._

“There’s no one else I want to look at,” Claude murmurs back and with the awestruck look in his eyes, the way his hips roll up against him, Dimitri believes him.

Experimentally, he lifts up, drawing himself above Claude's hips and separating the two of them just by a careful few inches before easing back down. Doable. Dimitri keeps his hands on Claude's chest, does it again, and finds that it's better when he's a little faster about it. He moves again, flexing his thighs and finally sliding his hands down Claude's body in order to lean upward, steadying himself and his balance over Claude while tilting his head back, his teeth clamped sharply over his lower lip.

“It's - it's good,” he confirms in a whisper, and then groans when one sharp thrust sends Claude pressing against that part of him that always seems to make Claude go wild when he hits it. Pleasure lances through him like a flame, sharp and biting at the corners of his mind and Dimitri immediately changes his approach so that Claude can hit it again.

“Goddess - _Claude_ -”

Claude gets with the program quickly, rising up to meet Dimitri’s thrusts just a little, arching his back, pressing upward into him. He’s thick and the weight of him feels substantial, feels warm and insistent inside of him and Dimitri can’t get enough.

“Ah - you feel so good - “ Claude practically whines out beneath him, and Dimitri shifts his hips again, which causes Claude’s hand to fall from his cock entirely, his fingers gripping tightly at the sheets, head thrown back in pleasure.

“_Dimitri_ \- ah, Goddess, I can't take much more -”

“Claude, please,” Dimitri practically begs, desperate for him. Claude's little thrusts are undoing him, the way he's clearly trying to hold himself back but _can't_, coupled by the sensation of him pushing upward, fucking him in tandem with Dimitri's downward rhythm. He misses the hand on his cock but he can't complain when Claude's other hand tightens around his hip, a sign of how helpless he is to his own pleasure.

Dimitri loves that. He loves it when Claude loses control, when all of his careful plans and thoughtfulness fly out the window in his lust. He loves making Claude mindless, loves feeling Claude really come undone and he knows it's not far off now.

He leans forward again, balancing himself on one hand so he can wrap the other around himself, using his knees this time to move faster, harder, and keep his fingers tight around his cock. He's panting openly now, his mouth hung open, face flushed while he chases his completion. It doesn't take him long to find it, not with the way that Claude is thrusting into him now, hitting that spot every single time, and Dimitri's rhythm goes stuttered, rocking in faster, shorter motions now to keep Claude pressed deep inside of him.

“Haah - _Claude -_”

His back arches as he comes and for all that he's been chasing his release, it still comes as a shock to him as the pleasure cascades through his limbs and makes him feel lost within it, helpless as his body tightens around Claude's cock and he comes over the other man's chest, his mouth open in a wordless cry of pleasure.

Claude clings to him throughout it, fingernails digging into his thighs, arching up into him as he follows suit, his head falling back as he offers a wordless cry: something that might be Dimitri’s name, might be something in another language, might be nothing at all.

Dimitri loves it, loves _him_, and as the both of them come down from the emotional high of their climaxes, Claude’s fingers shift until he’s stroking at Dimitri’s thigh in a sated, reassuring motion. It takes him a few more moments to find his voice, but he recovers before Dimitri does and smiles up at him, sweet and a bit teasing.

“I really don't think there's anything more gorgeous than the way you look when you come.”

Claude, as always, does not seem to be at all embarrassed to say such a thing.

Dimitri himself is breathless in the aftermath, feeling loose and pliant above Claude, fully relaxed in a way that he so rarely is. He finds himself too tired to even manage an embarrassed flush in response to Claude's words and instead offers a soft laugh as he slowly pulls himself off of Claude.

“Well, I - _ah_, you only say that because you cannot see your own expression.”

He teases back, gingerly moving to stand on the floor beside the bed and teetering off for some of the supplies to clean them up: a few cloths and a shallow basin of water to wet them in. Once he brings them back, he's feeling a bit more stable and sets the basin on the table beside the bed, cleaning himself a bit before wetting a cloth and moving to sit near Claude again.

When Dimitri lifts the cloth to Claude's chest to clean his own mess from him, it's gentle, reverent. He likes tending to him like this, touching him, taking care of him - even if it's something Claude could do himself. There's a faint smile pulling on his lips as he finishes with his chest, exchanging it with a clean cloth before taking care of the sweat on his shoulders and brow.

There’s a pause. He feels on the verge of saying something but he’s not sure what - Claude seems to be able to sense it too and remains quiet, watching as Dimitri thoughtfully slides the cloth across his skin.

“...thank you.”

Dimitri says it softly, lifting his legs up so that he can lay next to Claude, turning on his side to look at him with the cloth abandoned now in favor of just touching him, his fingers sliding up his arm, tracing the hollow of his elbow, the muscle at his bicep. Dimitri lowers his lashes and continues.

“...for saving me. For all those times you reached your hand into the darkness and pulled me into the light. I thought that I was a corpse - you showed me that I could be a king.”

There's a pause, but Dimitri continues before Claude can speak.

“Know that I will repay you for the rest of our lives together. You not only saved me, but through me, my people. This country. You fought tooth and nail for your dream and never accepted anything less... you taught me how to do the same. I love you - I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I just - “ he coughs, bringing them out of this careful reverie and _now_ there's a pink tinge to his cheeks as he has the self awareness to be embarrassed at how forward he'd been. “- I had to tell you.”

There’s a long pause and Dimitri feels self conscious, almost _scared_ before he realizes the truth of it: that he has left Claude speechless. He doesn't know if that's ever happened before.

For the first time, Dimitri thinks that maybe Claude didn’t already know all of this. But how could he not? He was there, after all, that whole time - there to take Dimitri from Gronder Field, coax him out of his cell, place him upon the battlefield. It was Claude who convinced him to take a leadership role once more, Claude who helped him decide to become king. Claude was there when Edelgard fell, drawing him back from the darkness one last time. Claude had to know what it meant, he had to know that he alone changed history.

Perhaps it’s different to know that and to hear it from someone else. Dimitri knows that Claude has never been shown enough appreciation for the things that he’s done, that maybe he’s not used to receiving this sort of recognition and gratitude. He vows there to tell him these sorts of things more often, as often as he can.

Claude reaches out finally, catching hold of Dimitri's arm and tugging it around him. At the same time he moves closer, so they're pressed together. 

When he finally speaks, his words are soft, not calculated, just gentle with emotion.

“I would do it a thousand times. You've made me happy, and you've loved me, and I - I feel like I have a home with you. Like I have somewhere to belong, somewhere I will always be safe and welcome.”

Dimitri holds him close to his chest, wrapping his arm around him and lowering his chin to press his nose into Claude's hair. He feels safe like this, comfortable, secure with the person he loves most pressed warmly and protected against him. He knows that Claude has not always been welcome - he vows to change that too.

“Even if you hadn't - “ Claude tries to continue, but hesitates, rephrases, “even if none of that was true - you would still deserve to be happy, Dimitri. I want to make our homes better, Fódlan and Almyra both. I want to spend my life doing that. But I want to spend my life making you happy, too." He turns toward Dimitri, to press a kiss to his collarbone, his shoulder, his jaw. “You owe me nothing. You've given me so much. All I ask is that you love me.”

“You know I do,” he says back, whispering it against Claude's mouth as he kisses him. Dimitri pulls away so that he can kiss at Claude's brow instead, tangling their legs together and running his hand warmly over the small of Claude’s back, reassuring.

“You're safe with me. I will always support you, and you - well, we just told two separate countries that we belong with one another, I to you and you to me. If you ever doubt…” There's a pause, and Dimitri pulls back just for a moment to slide his fingers along Claude's face, trailing down his jaw, tilting his chin up to look at him fully in the low light of their room. “...if you ever doubt, you have your ring. Our earrings. The ribbon that bound our hands. Your dagger. My heart beats with yours, and you always have a home with me.”

Claude smiles, a soft, wobbly expression that Dimitri thinks is reserved for only him.

“With you next to me,” he says, shifting to press against him, to hold him tightly, “I don't think any doubts that might appear will last for long.”

Claude reaches up, brushing his fingers against the ring in Dimitri's ear, the one he used to wear every day. His own now matches it, and with all the small tokens of their love that they can wear every day, Dimitri thinks that it will be impossible to forget, even if there are doubts.

Because he knows Claude. He knows that Claude is too clever for his own good, just as he knows that his own demons can still haunt him. He is not naive enough to believe that there will never be a moment of hesitation - but he believes with everything in him, that these small tokens will remind them of the truth.

“I ought to retire all the other names I've given you and just say 'my husband' from now on, shouldn't I?” Claude asks, changing the subject with a sleepy grin. “But I think I'd miss being able to call you Mitya. Or my lion... or my love.”

In truth, Claude rarely uses the last one, naturally gravitating to the ones that are a bit more teasing. But sometimes when they're alone, when Claude is feeling particularly affectionate, it will slip out.

“You can call me whatever you like,” Dimitri murmurs, wrapping Claude back up in his arms, pulling him close so they can lay together like this, “but I'll be calling you husband.”

Claude chuckles softly, but before he can close his mouth, it stumbles open even wider into a yawn.

“Ah - you should sleep… we both should. They'll expect us at more feasts tomorrow, every Almyran lord wants to show off for you. For us.”

Dimitri nods, settling down into the bed, relaxing a little at Claude's advice. They should both get some rest. He's never been to an Almyran wedding before, but it seems like this will stretch on for a few days, and Dimitri thinks that he'll need all the quiet moments he can get when faced with the parties and feasts and tasks before them.

He yawns wide over Claude's head, letting his limbs go limp and pliant around him.

“My husband.”

He whispers it against Claude’s hair, and it's the last thing he says before he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! As this is my (Rae's) last chapter for this fic, please let me get sappy for a moment and gush about what an honor it's been to write this fic which has gotten so much love and appreciation from the fandom. You guys have been so amazing and the wonderful reception to this fic has made this, without a doubt, the most positive fandom I've ever been in. I'm really going to miss the anticipation of working on updates and getting excited to open up all of your lovely comments... they have made my day, my week, my entire *year* and I'm so glad that Asael and I started what seemed like an impossible project all those months ago. c:
> 
> Thank you so much. It's been such a wild ride, and I am definitely planning on more that I can contribute to this fandom and to this ship in particular in the future.
> 
> As always, you can check me out and keep updated on my other works at [@unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated), and keep up with Asael, who will be posting the last chapter of this fic, [@asaelfic](https://twitter.com/asaelfic). Thank you guys so much!


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after their wedding, Dimitri and Claude have a quiet day to spend together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part, and thank you so much for coming with us this far. I have some notes at the end, but to begin with - please check out these incredible pieces of art. I'm so, so thankful, all I do all day is stare at them and cry.
> 
> [This gorgeous moment](https://twitter.com/cIaudebert/status/1237585789334065152?s=20) from Chapter 6, by [Raimy](https://twitter.com/cIaudebert/)!!
> 
> [A beautiful rendition of their wedding](https://twitter.com/AutumnSacura/status/1241017150430724099?s=20) by [Autumn Sacura](https://twitter.com/AutumnSacura)!!
> 
> [A fierce warrior](https://twitter.com/jhocaaaa/status/1237944622871195648?s=20) from Chapter 4, by [Jhoca](https://twitter.com/jhocaaaa/)!!
> 
> [A parting](https://twitter.com/jhocaaaa/status/1237986070651944960?s=20), also from Chapter 4, also by [Jhoca](https://twitter.com/jhocaaaa/)!!
> 
> Please look at all of these. Give your eyeballs a treat.

Mornings in Almyra are cool - the heat doesn't set in until later in the day, and it's still spring, so even in the height of the day it shouldn't get too hot. Of course, that's by Almyran standards. Claude knows Dimitri may have a very different opinion of the heat, though he's endured it awfully well for someone who grew up in a snowy wasteland.

It's only fair, Claude thinks. He had to survive all those Faerghus winters - true, it was really only a couple, and now he can coax Dimitri into escaping to Almyra when it gets too bad, fleeing somewhere a little more amenable to Claude's constitution. A little less amenable to _Dimitri's_, but they're making it work so far.

Really, so long as they're together, Claude can make anything work.

The past few months have been... interesting, to say the least. Dimitri has adjusted to married life easily - he has so much love in his heart. He acts as if it's a privilege to wake up to Claude every morning, tuck in with him at night. Dimitri never seems to tire of it, even as the newness of their bond fades into routine and they grow to expect each other nearby, whether they are in Fhirdiad or in Almyra.

It makes the times when they're apart difficult, but that's never for very long - sometimes urgent business means that they are both needed in their respective countries, but both of them ensure that it's never longer than a week or so. During those weeks, they miss each other terribly, but their inevitable reunions are all the sweeter for it.

What surprises Claude is how easy it has been for him, too. His love for his husband has not diminished over these months of marriage. It's steadied, instead, into something real and true that Claude can depend on. When they are together, he can wake to Dimitri and fall asleep next to him, ask for his counsel about Almyran issues, provide his own on the problems of Fódlan. Claude came into this marriage with an advantage, all those years spent learning Fódlan politics. Dimitri's still in the process of learning how Almyra works, who to listen to and who to ignore, what matters and what doesn't. He's doing well, though.

He isn't wholly beloved, just as Claude isn't in Fódlan. Some Almyrans view him with distrust, some with disdain. Some will never change their minds, but Claude has seen Dimitri's mere presence change others. Though he wears the robes of a noble, he's clearly a warrior. And it didn't hurt that Claude carefully arranged some 'chance' demonstrations of Dimitri's strength. A broken cart here, an angry wyvern there... no one can watch that sort of thing and not be impressed.

Claude certainly can't.

Admittedly, Dimitri is not used to being disliked. Most of his life, he has been surrounded by those who respected his position, were gentle with him, guided him to where he needed to go. Hearing ministers and noblemen of Almyra spit curses under their breaths at him was a new experience, but one that Claude watched him take in relative stride, seeking only to change their minds when he could and avoid them when he could not.

They've had to split their time carefully, ruling two kingdoms over such a wide stretch of land. Claude's rule is a bit more precarious at the moment, and so they've spent some time in Almyra, introducing Dimitri to the land and its customs and winning over some of the nobles who were more uncertain about this Fódlan alliance. It's going well, Claude can tell. The influx of trade and the movement between lands is already sparking creativity and commerce, and so far there have been relatively few problems.

Almyra itself is something else altogether. Dimitri has not merely tolerated it, he has thrown himself into it, learning the culture, the fashion, even - brokenly - the language, which he practices with Claude when he's feeling brave enough to withstand Claude's patient little chuckles at his rampant mispronounciations or verb disagreements. He does not hide his enjoyment of the country and he tries at everything with his typical earnest and overeager behavior, which endears most and annoys a few. He asks _what's this?_ to Claude over and over again, and the two of them whisper often about the small things: heavy clips women wear at the end of their braids, a sweet-smelling rub which prevents sweat, a special box which keeps the water stored within as cool as ice. Dimitri is delighted to learn about it all. He has mentioned once or twice that he finds himself missing it a little when he's back in Fhirdiad, understanding now how Claude must have felt to leave it all behind for so long.

Dimitri still loves Fhirdiad dearly, though. The stone walls and spring snowfalls are still precious to him, and he brings Claude back as often as Claude will allow, takes him out on walks through the royal wood where he used to hunt as a boy and brushes snow from his hair while he kisses him.

Fhirdiad is beautiful in its own crystalline way, her people noble and reserved, but burning hotly just under the surface. Dimitri understands how to negotiate with them and excels in it - those tactics don't work quite as well in Almyra, but he's learning to hold his tongue when necessary, to form the right kinds of words to encourage people to listen to him, and when he succeeds Claude feels the perfect ache of pride all through his heart.

Dimitri’s nightmares are also worse in Fhirdiad, though he has them in both locations. It's as if the palace is haunted, if nothing else than by Dimitri's memories. On a good night, he wakes with a start, crying out for someone whose name is long-since in the graveyard and Claude wakes next to him, sleepily reaches for him and tells him it's okay, holds him until he falls back asleep.

On the bad nights, he cannot stomach Claude's touch. He rises, needing to lash out and afraid to hurt him, and rocks back and forth until the images dissipate in his mind. Sometimes, he leaves the rooms entirely and stalks the halls until dawn, sometimes he can be coaxed back into bed where he sleeps fitfully for the rest of the night.

Claude is always nearby when Dimitri allows him to be, though - and even at the worst, the worst of episodes, Claude learns quickly that Dimitri will come back to him once his demons are excised and Claude can again reassure him in his soft and even words: _it's not real, you know it isn't, I love you, I've got you._

It's enough - enough that the intensity and regularity of them lessen, though they do not disappear entirely and they likely never will. Claude stays by him always, promises that he always will, and Dimitri repays him in kisses and adoration, in opening his big heart to him and to all of the people of Almyra, throwing himself into each task as if it is the most important thing in the world.

Trade blossoms. The Fódlan economy, which was once in dire straits, flourishes. Dimitri reaches out to Dagda and finds them tentatively curious about his alliance with Almyra and Duscur. There is still plenty of bad blood between Faerghus and Sreng - not to mention Brigid, whose princess they had killed years ago - but slowly, tentatively, they begin to negotiate.

It isn't perfect, but it is _work_ and it is progress, and neither of them would have it no other way.

They've been busy. But today - today they're not.

It's a holiday in Almyra, the supposed birthday of the king who originally founded the country so long ago. Claude has done his own research, of course, and he's pretty sure they're a few weeks off, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that official business is suspended for the day, that the city, even the country is engaged in a celebration. It's tradition for the king or one of his men to assist with that, of course, but Nader asked to do it, and Claude had no desire to refuse him. He thinks the man wanted to give them both some time to breathe, to relax.

Perhaps if they desire it, later in the day they'll leave the palace and join the festivities in the town. Claude wouldn't mind that, but he also wouldn't mind a quiet day spent with Dimitri. They have few enough of those - though he doesn't mind. What matters is that, even if they are busy, they are together.

The sun has just risen, its light spilling into the courtyard. Their room opens onto this courtyard, with its brilliantly-colored plants and its equally brilliant inlaid tiles. The servants have prepared a table for them, after which Claude dismissed them to enjoy their morning. It's spread with an array of foods, Almyran and Fódlan both, though the Fódlan foods generally have some Almyran spices in them - that's become the fashion in the past few months. Claude enjoys it quite a bit, and though he regrets that Dimitri can't taste them, he thinks that Dimitri appreciates the care that goes into their preparation nevertheless.

There's wine too, though it's a bit early, and juice, and water flavored with mint. A spread fit for a king - in fact, two kings.

Normally Claude would spend his mornings attending to one or another piece of Almyran business, reading letters or a summary of the business of the day. But the night before, he'd told Dimitri he was planning to do no work at all today, and he intends to keep to that. So he has a book instead, a tome of Almyran lore - pleasure reading for Claude, for all that it's rather dense and obscure.

He pages through it until he hears the sound of Dimitri's footsteps. Then he looks up and smiles, feeling utterly content.

“Good morning, my husband.”

Dimitri rubs the sleep from his eyes as he shuffles out into the courtyard, his face lightening when he sees Claude waiting for him. He's not fully dressed yet, still wearing his sleeping clothes with a dressing gown over it, and he brushes the hair back from his face and behind his shoulder - no eyepatch yet either - to look at the small breakfast feast before them.

“Good morning.” He says it with a smile, making his way over toward Claude, touching his hands to the back of his chair so he can lean down and kiss his husband on the cheek in greeting. It doesn't matter who could be watching, though the courtyard is generally private. They're allowed to kiss and touch and be affectionate however they like. “I'm sorry I slept late. I hope the food isn't cold.”

Claude smiles up at Dimitri, simply and truly pleased to see him. Every morning together still feels like a bit of a blessing. For so long, he believed he couldn't have this, and now he does, and he's not sure it'll ever get old.

Dimitri doesn't look overly tired, and Claude doesn't remember him rising during the night, so he thinks it was a good night. Bringing them into a good day, he hopes, but in truth - so many of his days are good days now. It seems that all of Claude's dreams are coming true, even the ones he didn't realize he had. With Dimitri at his side, it feels like anything is possible.

“I think everything's still warm. I haven't been out here long.”

Claude doesn't always sleep well either - there are the occasional nightmares, of course, memories of war or from further back, when he was nothing but a frightened child. But more often he simply finds himself too consumed by his thoughts to sleep. And then he'll rise and find something to work at until he's worked out whatever was bothering him, or if he's not able to do that, until he's tired enough to sleep regardless. And sometimes he wakes early, too, restless.

Today wasn't one of those days. He woke before Dimitri, but only to ensure their breakfast was ready and because he did not want the servants to wait for him to rise. They deserve time off as well.

He pours Dimitri some water and some juice, and fills a plate for him as well. He likes to take care of Dimitri. It's a harmless desire, a need to give Dimitri little pieces of himself every day so that he does not forget Claude loves him - as if something like that could ever happen.

“Anyway, we're not in a rush today. We can take our time.” Claude has a few ideas about how to spend their day - it's impossible for him not to plan - but he's taking it easy. They've earned a rest, and he's going to make sure they get it. “Did you sleep well?”

Dimitri smiles as Claude tends to him, easing down to sit in his chair opposite Claude in the small table and graciously accept his plate from his hands. Dimitri sets it down and takes his first bite, swallowing it with a gulp of his juice and then leans back into his chair, looking up toward the sky.

The hazy clouds of the morning are quickly burning away as the sun climbs higher into the sky. It's going to be warm again today. Dimitri adjusts his dressing gown a little before leveling his gaze toward Claude over the table at the question, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Yes, except for the part where your side of the bed was cold when I woke up.” He teases a little, adoring as ever, and has another bite.

“I didn't want to make the servants wait - they deserve a bit of time off too. And if I'd gotten back in with you, we might have never gotten out again.” Claude grins at the thought. It wouldn't be such a bad use of the day. His desire for Dimitri has not faded, and though they both work to near-exhaustion at times, they still often make time for one another. Even if it's nothing more than kisses in the corridor before a council session or a few stolen minutes in the morning, Claude tries to find moments where they can be together, enjoy each other.

It's possible there are a few nobles left in each land who still believe this was only a political match, but even those must now believe that they've found love together regardless. Claude sees no reason to hide it, and there is some selfish part of him that can only be satisfied and happy that the world knows someone - someone like _Dimitri_, especially - wants him, wants to be with him.

“Hmm,” Dimitri said, and he’s smiling still as he eats his breakfast. “Are you going to go out for the festival?”

“I thought we might dress down a little and see if we can't enjoy ourselves.” Really, they can't get away with proper disguise - not when Dimitri stands out so much - but if they make an effort to look like they're trying not to be recognized, most of the commonfolk will play along. “But I also thought…”

He pours himself some juice. For some reason he feels, ridiculously, a bit nervous proposing this, even though he's absolutely certain Dimitri will like the idea.

“Well, the kitchens have made more than enough, preparing for the festival. I've asked them to save any extra, and I thought we could visit a few of the orphanages in the city. More casually, as nothing more than citizens, rather than as a visit from the king.” He shrugs, smiling a little. “I thought it might be nice. If you want.”

Dimitri lights up at Claude's proposal, eyes widening somewhat as he sets his forkful of food down. Claude knows well that Dimitri has always felt so deeply and so warmly for those who have suffered their own misfortunes. He's the kind of man who would readily take the shirt off of his back to give to someone else in need and so Claude was hoping that this suggestion would excite him, and he feels - accomplished. Happy, at the look on Dimitri’s face.

He wants to go too, of course - how could he not? But Dimitri's smile would have been enough reason to plan this all by itself. The fact that Claude wants this, that he's been looking forward to this too, is more like a nice bonus.

Dimitri nods mutely for a moment before finally finding his words. “I... I would love that. I have not been able to make such visits among the meetings and other business I've had, but... when I was younger, I enjoyed the opportunity to help where I could. I'll get ready after breakfast - do you think I should wear Almyran clothes?”

“You'll blend in more if you do," Claude offers,"and they won't be as hot.”

Though truthfully Dimitri will always stand out. There are more folk from Fódlan in Almyra now, but they are still far from common, and between Dimitri's height, his hair, and his eyepatch, there's no chance at all that he'll ever pass for an Almyran. But by dressing like one he at least signals that he doesn't want to stand out, that he's making an attempt to blend in. And, of course, Almyran fashions are far more suited to the heat of the day.

But -

“But I'm sure it would be a treat for them, seeing someone from Fódlan.” Claude grins. “Though seeing you will be a treat regardless, no matter what you wear.”

“I'll try to live up to the expectation,” Dimitri says with a small smile. 

Claude finishes his juice, but makes no move to rise yet - they're not in any kind of hurry, after all. “I'll braid your hair for you before we go.”

He'll have to, of course, since he's dismissed their servants. But rather than pure practicality, it's something Claude enjoys doing, another one of those small tasks he indulges in when he is able. It's so strange sometimes that this is his life now, this is his husband. That he knows he will have somewhere to belong no matter what.

“Ah - thank you.” Dimitri brushes his hair back over his shoulders self consciously at the offer, finishing up his meal quickly now that there's incentive for how they're to spend the rest of their day. “I should probably cut it soon anyway. I've just been too busy to get around to it.”

The work of a king - particularly one who moonlights as another king's consort - is never over, after all. They've both worked themselves to the bone and been left without much free time to do luxurious things like that, but here, now... well, they have an entire day to themselves to do whatever they wish. Go to the markets, update their fashions - bring food to the local orphanages.

“Is there anything else we can bring? Toys or books, perhaps? I can find some of our wooden swords and give the little ones a lesson or two - just like old times.”

“I think that's an excellent idea." Claude smiles."I'm sure we can find some toys and things to bring.”

He knew that Dimitri would have ideas for this sort of thing - he's known for some time that it's an issue that's close to Dimitri's heart. He's funded orphanages in Fódlan, after all, and schools for disadvantaged students to attend, though Claude doesn't think he often - or ever - gets a chance to visit them. He'll have to find a way to change that, too.

Claude rises then and accompanies Dimitri back into their room, where he occupies himself for a bit pulling out clothing for them to wear. Nothing too fine - in fact, what he chooses are the plainest pieces of Almyran garb they own. There's no use in dressing fancy, after all, and to the children they're going to see even these will be awfully fine.

“Oh - I'm not sure about books, though,” he says, thinking as he picks through their clothing. “I've provided funds for tutors, but they didn't have any before. I'm not sure how many can read.”

Dimitri grabs a brush when he's finished dressing, brushes through his hair in long, even strokes and moves to sit at the desk so that Claude can take care of the rest for him.

“That's alright,” he amends, already thinking, “we can read to them if they want... I think my grasp on Almyran is enough to be able to get me through a few children's books.”

He turns up toward Claude then, smiling like a student who's just passed a test. While most of the men and women in Almyra that he interacts with speak his language, or enough of it to allow them to understand one another, it’s unlikely that the orphaned children would.

It doesn't matter. They'll manage.

“Or maybe we're better off with stories from memory. I know a few from the Kingdom that I bet they won't have heard before.”

Claude's hands are gentle but certain as he braids Dimitri's hair. He doesn't always do this, but he's done it often enough that it's familiar - and of course, he'd done it to his own hair enough during school that it isn't difficult. He's careful not to pull too hard, and for today Dimitri needs nothing more than a simple braid to keep it out of his face, nothing fancy.

“As much as I would love to listen to you reading Almyran children's stories, I think the ones from Faerghus would be a nice change for them. Something new. I would have loved hearing those kinds of stories when I was a child.”

He'd been so curious, even then, wanting to know more about the land his mother came from. But she had shed her old self as thoroughly as she could, and though she told him a few tales from Fódlan, most of them he'd learned when he was much older, when he'd fled to the Alliance. And even now he doesn't know that much about the tales of Faerghus or the Empire.

Claude still has that endless curiosity, but he's had to temper it. As king, he can indulge himself to a certain extent, but he can no longer run off to investigate things as he pleases.

“I think I'd like to hear them, too.” He tucks a stray piece of hair into place and meets Dimitri's eyes in the mirror with a smile. “There. You look very handsome today, my lion.”

Of course, Claude says something like that nearly every day, and he has no intention of stopping anytime soon. But that's no reason not to say it again. Dimitri smiles in his direction - he's still missing his eyepatch and with his hair pulled back like this, the scarring is obvious. Still, he looks at himself in the mirror for a moment and nods, a thin, wavering thing.

“...I know a few about the founding of the Kingdom,” he murmurs, moving to stand and brushing past Claude with an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder as he carefully moves to don his eyepatch and then searches for his shoes. “And even one or two about the Alliance's bid for independence.”

That last part is said a little coyly as he slips his shoes on, tying the knots of his laces tightly.

“You have to promise not to be too cross with me though. I'm sure my versions are awfully biased.”

”Well, now you really have to tell those tales, otherwise curiosity will end me.” Claude grins, putting his own shoes on and fixing his hair. It's rather easier to get ready than it usually is - he leaves off his crown and much of his jewelry, except of course his earring and his wedding ring. If Claude were by himself, he might take a bodyguard - while there have been no further assassination attempts, there's no reason to make it easy for his enemies - but with Dimitri by his side, he doesn't think he needs one. No one will keep him safer than his husband.

They leave their rooms, and then the palace, after a stop at the kitchens to retrieve baskets of food and at the storerooms to find some toys and other items to bring. Claude nods to the guards as they leave, but makes no other acknowledgement of his position. It's early still, so the streets aren't as full as they will be once the festival is in full swing. A few passers-by glance at Dimitri for a little too long, clearly recognizing him, but no one says anything.

They reach the orphanage without any trouble. The woman in charge of it greets them with poorly-hidden awe - clearly this is the first time anyone of Claude's station has visited them. The building is not large, but it's clean and well-maintained, and Claude assesses it with a sharp eye. He's sent what support he could, after all, and he's pleased to see that at least here it isn't being misused. Dimitri is carrying baskets of food and toys as they enter the orphanage and nods respectfully toward the woman in charge, greeting her after Claude does as is customary for the consort of the king.

“The children are excited to have visitors,” she says, once she's managed to push away her nervousness. “Please, follow me.”

Claude looks up at Dimitri, meeting his eyes with a smile, and then he follows her through the building and out the back, into a large, open courtyard. Claude had asked that nothing special be done, that the children simply be allowed to play and enjoy their day of rest, and so they are. There are about thirty of them, ranging in age from barely walking to young teens, scattered around the courtyard. Some are playing, some still yawning as if they've just gotten up recently.

As these strangers enter their space, most of them look up with interest. Visitors aren't terribly common, after all.

The children are all ages, some apprehensive, some bold as they look up at them - the kings of the lands. Claude smiles at them and glances for a moment at his husband. It's difficult for Dimitri to not look intimidating with his size and missing eye but he tempers that with a smile, handing the food off with one of the attendants who says that they'll take it to the kitchen and instead moving toward one of the well-worn tables, independent of Claude.

Claude hasn't really had the chance to spend much time with children, not even when he was a child, but he approaches it as he does most unfamiliar things - with confidence and a desire to figure it all out. He treats the children as if they were small adults, with kindness but no attempt to speak down to them. It's easier, of course, because he can speak to them in ways that Dimitri can't, and he looks more familiar to their Almyran eyes. 

While he talks to them, he keeps an eye on Dimitri, making sure he’s all right - but there seems to be nothing to worry about. Despite not being around them for the majority of his life, Dimitri is excellent with children. When he sits, he starts removing the various items from his bag: a few wooden daggers, a ball and cup game, a small hoop and pole to toss it around. As he sets them out methodically, a few of the braver children come up to him, curious, investigating what he's brought.

Then, the boldest of them all finally makes contact: a young girl, no older than eight or so, tapping on his shoulder and pointing to the ball and cup game. Dimitri smiles and turns to show her how to work it, communicating in the simple words and phrases he's learned from Claude.

She tries a few times and fails and Dimitri gently takes it from her hands to show her an easier way to get the ball inside the cup. When she tries again, she gets it on the third attempt and her face lights up in laughter.

By now, the others are approaching the table as well, piecing through the toys that have been set out, tugging at his sleeve for his attention so he might show them too. Dimitri turns to each of them in turn, laughing as they play together. He catches Claude's eye for a moment over the head of one of the shorter children and offers him an adoring look.

This was a good idea. For both of them.

Once they get over their shyness, the children have plenty of questions for Claude, many of them about Dimitri. Most of them have never met anyone from Fódlan before, though they've all heard stories, and they want to know everything they can - why his hair is that color, if everyone from Fódlan is that tall (an unfair question, in Claude's opinion, as there are plenty of tall Almyrans), if he can speak their language. Claude answers patiently and with good humor, encouraging them to go talk to Dimitri themselves.

“But don't talk too fast, okay? He's still learning.” He takes a moment to meet Dimitri's eye, to smile at him. Dimitri is good with children - this is something Claude already knew, even if he hadn't seen it in action himself. Of course Dimitri would be good with children. He is a kind man, and gentle, and he cares so deeply for those who can't protect themselves. The children are already taking to him so well, and not just because he came bearing gifts.

He makes his way over to Dimitri, a small crowd of children trailing him.

“I think they'd like to hear a story, when you have a minute.” And then, switching easily to Almyran and talking to the children, “Come sit with us if you want. Dimitri has some stories to tell.”

Claude will translate if needed, if any of the words or concepts are too difficult for Dimitri's admittedly still intermediate Almyran. He gathers the children around, settles them down. Not all are interested, some want to wander off and play with toys, but they gather a decent crowd.

Dimitri moves to where Claude is settling in and sits next to him, eyeing Claude for a moment as if to try and figure out what kind of story to tell, what he's capable of saying with his limited knowledge of the language, what kind of story Claude might enjoy. 

While he's good with children, Dimitri isn't the greatest storyteller, particularly in a language he's still learning to grasp. He often stumbles over the verb tenses, pauses too long to recall sentence structure, speaks with a Fódlan accent with improper stresses on the right syllables, but he muddles through, and the story itself is interesting enough that he manages to hold most of the children's attention.

He starts with Loog, of course, and tells about his power and his struggles - that after the bid for independence, the Kingdom found itself cut off from valuable resources that their former Empire provided, about how people were starving and freezing in the streets. He talks about how Loog's son, Lygos saw the Empire split once more and saw the victors to the south, with their weakened military and fertile lands. He explains how the conquering of the soon-to-be Alliance was a passionate move, desperate for supplies and territory and a bid for a desperate king to save his people.

Dimitri looks toward Claude for translations of words as he talks, speaking the word or phrase in his native tongue and letting Claude tell him the correct translation when he's confused. He tries to be unobtrusive about it, letting Dimitri take center stage. And he wants to listen, too - he knows plenty of these stories, thanks to his time spent in the monastery library, but it's different when you hear it from someone who grew up with it.

Dimitri paints Loog as the perfect king: just, wise, and fierce, and describes his son as a shrewd man who cared so passionately for his people that he would exert dominion over another nation to secure their futures. It's a story that's been told to him often, and it shows. He knows enough about it to recite from memory.

He stops the story there, before getting into Klaus' reign or the war for independence of the Leicester territories. The moral here - that a king had so much love for his people that he bloodied his own hands and conscience for them - does not quite go unnoticed and Dimitri doesn't quite meet Claude's eyes when he turns to him for translation.

He doesn't smile, doesn't tease Dimitri about the resonance of this tale, although it's impossible not to see it. Perhaps it's simply the way of the kings of Faerghus - to love their people enough to bleed for them, to shed blood for them. But isn't that how all kings are supposed to be? Almyra is no different. The strength of a king means something, and the children don't seem at all disturbed by the idea of it.

They're growing more comfortable with their visitors, to the point that one small boy sees nothing wrong with climbing into Claude's lap near the end of the tale. Claude is not entirely sure what to do with that, so he simply stays in place, letting the boy - and any other child who wishes - use him as something to climb and sit upon.

When the story is over, the children are full of questions - if Loog had more adventures, if Lygos had a wyvern, whether either of those kings ever came to Almyra. Claude answers as best he can, and translates them for Dimitri as well - and now he can't help smiling at the simple pleasure of it, the way most of these children don't seem to care about the differences between themselves and Dimitri.

“I think they liked it,” he says with a grin, when they have a moment to breathe. The children are still clustered around them, but they're talking to each other now, childish arguments about which legendary king was stronger, which one they can pretend to be when this becomes a game, which it surely will. “You're the best thing they've seen in ages.”

Claude, of course, cannot blame any of them. He's awfully fond of Dimitri himself.

“Do you think so?” Dimitri asks back, still insecure but pleased to see that they're having fun. He reaches for Claude’s hand to hook their fingers together. On the other side, a small girl reaches for his other hand and Dimitri is distracted by the way she presses her tiny palm into his large one, as if measuring the difference in sizes. He lets her do as she pleases, and she eventually strokes a small finger down the line of the scar in his palm and asks him if it still hurts.

When he shakes his head, she smiles happily and twines her fingers through his, holding his hand as he is holding Claude's. Between that and the child in Claude's lap, it's clear that their visit here was a success and Claude feels his heart melt in that achingly familiar way when Dimitri smiles at him once more.

The children come and go - some have more questions for Dimitri, asking him what happened to his eye or if they have wyverns in Fódlan, some just want to stay near them and like the experience of relaxing beside the two kings in between their play.

When the girl finally lets go of Dimitri’s fingers to toddle off and play with one of the toys they'd brought, he brings his hand back to his chest, curling his fingers over his palm as if remembering the warmth of her touch.

“Do you ever think…” he starts, not looking at Claude, as if he’s concerned about what he’s about to say, as if it’s taking all his strength to ask it, “...could you see yourself wanting - something like this? Someday?”

Claude takes his time, thinks about that question before answering it. It's a question that deserves careful thought, not a flippant response.

_Children_ isn't something he's really thought about. He's thought about _heirs_ \- because that will be a question someday, has already been part of the whispered conversations of their nobles. It's not so pressing here, where the throne isn't always passed down from parent to child, but there still is some expectation that he'll choose an heir someday. Someone to teach his ways of kingship, someone that those who support him now can rally behind when it comes time for him to leave the throne.

And in Fódlan the question is even more fraught. The mere fact of their marriage sent some of the nobles into a frenzy, because if neither of them have children then their crests will not be passed on. Claude thinks he and Dimitri are in complete agreement on this point: the crest system should be abolished. Claude is perfectly fine with the idea of the Crest of Riegan vanishing into the mists of history. The nobles are beginning to understand that, and even if the more traditional ones are infuriated by the idea, the younger generation - Claude and Dimitri's generation - tend to agree that Crests cause little but harm.

But even setting aside Crests, succession in Fódlan is usually passed down within a family. That could change, Claude is sure, if they truly desired it. But no matter what, Dimitri will be expected to have an heir of some kind - and so, in the end, will Claude.

With some effort, Claude pushes those thoughts aside, because they aren't what really matters. What really matters is if this is what he wants, what they want. Claude feels strongly that if they do have children - adopt children, because Claude cares little for his own bloodline and has no interest in laying with anyone besides Dimitri in order to ensure it - that what should matter is that they're wanted. That they are given a family who loves them, who will care for them and protect them.

What Claude knows without a doubt is that Dimitri would be a wonderful father. He doesn't know if that's true of himself, but Claude has never been one to balk from a challenge. And he thinks - he thinks they could make a family that would be full of happiness, of love, a place where all of them are safe and everyone belongs.

He squeezes Dimitri's hand, gently.

“I think so.” Claude grins, wrinkling his nose a little. “I mean, not this many, for sure. But something like this? Yeah. I think that would be nice.”

He's thinking about it in truth now, thinking about Dimitri with a child of his own, someone to tell his stories to, someone to build snowmen with during the icy Faerghus winters. He's thinking of himself, too - of all the stories he has to tell, of introducing a child to their first wyvern, of showing them the right way to hold a bow.

“I'd like that.”

The moment Claude says yes Dimitri brightens, unable to control his pleasure at the thought. He looks away as if embarrassed at his unbridled reaction, the pleased flush on his cheeks, the way he grins at the thought of it - the possibility.

“N-not this many, no,” he manages, squeezing at Claude's fingers. “Maybe just... two.”

_One for Fódlan and one for Almyra_ is not said out loud, but it's implied. Siblings in all but blood, those who know the shadows of war and work to protect the peace between their nations, a bond that would carry their alliance to greater heights.

“Someday.”

Claude's heart beats hard in his chest whenever he sees Dimitri smile like that. It still feels like a treasure, being allowed to see Dimitri's happiness - and especially knowing that he is part of it. Knowing that he can give Dimitri this, something he clearly wants very much, and something that Claude wants too.

A family.

“Two sounds good. Maybe when we go back to Fhirdiad we can visit some orphanages there,” he says.

There are some practicalities that he doesn't know if Dimitri has considered, but Claude's mind is already working, thinking of everything they need to keep in mind. The most important, he thinks, is that they will have to find children who truly are alone. It seems callous, but it could be a disaster if an unscrupulous relative should see this as an opportunity.

Claude knows also that as much as he and Dimitri will try to be loving parents, supportive ones, any children of theirs will face a certain amount of pressure and difficulty no matter how hard they try. He has no intention of ever allowing a child to go through what he's been through - or what Dimitri has - but simply being the children of kings, being the presumptive heirs, will be difficult on its own.

But when it comes down to it, Claude doesn't see those things as reasons to not do this. Only to be careful, to make plans - and to love their children fiercely. That part, he thinks, isn't going to be a problem.

“You'll make a wonderful father, you know.” He says it casually, almost off-handed, because it's the truth, after all. He already knows Dimitri will love whatever children they have. Claude has already experienced just how _much_ love Dimitri has in his heart - for his own people, his country, even Claude's country now. And Claude, who even in the darkest of moments cannot doubt Dimitri's love for him, cannot doubt that it never wavers.

The children they have will grow up with that. Claude can't think of a greater gift to give a child who is used to being alone.

Dimitri looks at him for a long moment. Claude can only imagine what he must be thinking. He knows that Dimitri loved his own father. Lambert was a hero to him, untouchable and bold, leaving impossible shoes to fill, but gone for so very long. It's entirely possible that, before Claude, Dimitri just assumed that he'd never settle down. Never marry, never have a family. All that lost to him with nightmares clawing at his mind, with the horrors he's done.

He knows what Dimitri thinks of himself in the darkest of moments, but Claude has never thought that of him.

When Dimitri speaks, his voice is deliberately, carefully lighthearted. “I was going to say the same of you.” He looks back over the yard of children, idly playing their own games. It's nice... serene, even. 

“...what memories I have of my father are shrouded in what he became to me after his death,” he admits quietly, “I don't have an example. But... I think that with you, I could allow myself to - that is, I want to have this.”

He swallows hard, clarifies: “A family. With you.”

“Then we'll do it,” Claude says.

And it's - really as easy as that. A life-changing decision for both of them, easily made in a moment. And Claude finds that he doesn't have any doubts. He wants this, he wants to build a family with Dimitri. He wants to pass on some of the love and security that they've given each other.

He never really considered it before. Never imagined that he could have this, that he would want this the way that he does. But these few months with Dimitri, though they've been full of work and by no means easy, have been the happiest time of his life. He wants this, and he wants more. It feels like anything is possible.

“You've met my parents. They're not bad people but - they were never really great parents.” Claude says it with a calm sort of certainty. He's had years to come to terms with this. Dimitri lost his only possible example of parenting, and Claude has accepted that his own examples weren't ideal. But he thinks - they can both learn from what they didn't have. They can do better, or try to, anyway.

“But I think that between the two of us, we can manage.”

He brings Dimitri's hand to his lips for a quick, gentle kiss, releasing it before any of the children can see.

“I want a family with you, too, my husband.”

He watches as the orphanage attendants begin to serve the food they brought - Claude made sure to bring plenty of treats along, as well as healthier fare. He thinks the children here probably don't have many chances to have treats of their own.

But a few of them put their heads together, whispering, and then they're running over to their royal guests, bringing a napkin full of pastries and candy, offering it to them as if Claude and Dimitri are the ones who must have gone without all this time. Claude can't help laughing, a true and honest sound.

Dimitri lifts his eyebrows, delighted and touched when he's offered the food that they had brought. He crouches down then, getting onto a knee so it's easier for the children to hand him the sweets, and reaches his hand out to ruffle the hair of the boy who holds the napkin out to him, thanking him for the stories he told.

“I ate before coming here,” he tries to explain, but he takes one of the small chocolates when it seems like the child won't budge on his kindness, popping it into his mouth with a sound of pleasure. “Ah- thank you, it's very good. Don't you think, Claude?”

He glances up to Claude beside him as the boy reluctantly takes the rest of his treats back to share among his friends. Quietly, to Claude this time, he murmurs: “We'll have to come back here. When we're ready.”

“Yes.” Claude laces their fingers together, leans in to press his shoulder against Dimitri's. “Sometime soon.”

Because now that he's started to think of it, he wants it. He wants it so badly, a family with Dimitri, a quiet future together. They haven't talked about it yet, but he knows that Dimitri feels the same as he does about their homes, their thrones: that they don't want to do this forever, they don't want to grow old and die as kings.

Claude wants to set his home on a good path, rule long enough to know that things are changing, hand everything down to a successor that he can trust. Dimitri, he is sure, wants the same thing. Someday - someday they will step down from these highs, pass on this crushing responsibility. And when that happens, Claude wants to have built something for the two of them that will last, too.

He loves his home, he loves his country, he loves Fódlan - but he loves his husband, too. And he knows, even before he's met them, that he will love their children.

It is incredible that he has this. He's never going to take it for granted.

“I love you.” He says it quietly, just for Dimitri, and then he squeezes Dimitri's hand gently and grins. “Let's have fun, all right? I wanna see how many of these kids can climb on you before you fall over.”

Claude stands, pulling Dimitri along with him, leading him over to the crowds of children who are just finishing their food, full of energy and ready to play again. They'll have fun today, and the next time they come here -

Next time, they'll come for something a lot more permanent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my (Manda's) last chapter for this fic, and the very last chapter, period. I don't have words for how much writing this fic and connecting with people because of it has meant to me. I've never even attempted a project this long and involved before, much less completed one. People have been so incredibly kind and supportive, I'm constantly amazed and emotional over how many people have enjoyed our fic, drawn art from it, and reached out to talk to us because of it. Dimiclaude fandom is an absolute treasure and I love every single one of you. I'm both overjoyed to be done and devastated to be ending this fic - there's a lot of emotions going on right now. All I can say is, thank you all so, so much for sticking with us this long. 
> 
> As for future plans... while I can't promise anything concrete, because who knows what the future will bring, we've talked about writing some side stories set in the Warmth universe. We've also been kicking around a few non-Warmth concepts, so you haven't seen the last of us! And of course, Rae and I both write fics on our own.
> 
> You can find me at [@asaelfic](https://twitter.com/asaelfic) and Rae at [@unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated). Please follow us if you're at all interested in future projects, or if you just want to say hi! 
> 
> Last of all, I can't say it enough times: thank you all so, so much. We wouldn't have been able to complete this without all the support and love we've gotten, and it's been such an amazing and incredible experience. See you again soon. ♥


End file.
